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Updated: June 14, 2025
"I killed Chavis, Randerson," she said, looking up at him with a pitiful smile. "I have learned what it means to to take human life. I killed him, Rex! I shot him down just as he was about to spring upon me! But I had to do it didn't I?" she pleaded. "I I couldn't help it. I kept him off as long as I could and nobody came and he looked so terrible " "I reckon you've got things mixed, ma'am."
Randerson ran to where Kelso lay, gasping and panting for breath. He knelt beside him. "You talkin' straight, Kelso?" he asked. "Did Masten hire you to put me out of business?" "Sure," whispered Kelso. "Where's Masten stayin'?" "With Chavis in the shack. He's been there right along, except," he finished, with a grim attempt at humor, "when he's been rushin' that biscuit-shooter in Lazette."
He knew as well as Chavis that it was the only way. A word, spoken with a hint of belligerence, a single hostile movement, would have precipitated the clash they knew Randerson had come to force a clash which they knew would end badly for them. For Randerson had chosen his position when halting Patches it was strategic, and they knew his fingers were itching for the feel of his guns.
He was staring stonily out into the plains. Ruth's cheeks reddened, for she felt that she knew his thoughts. But still, Randerson hadn't really used him ill at the river, and besides, he had apologized, and it seemed to her that that should end the incident. Also, she still felt rather resentful toward Masten for his attitude toward Tom Chavis after she had complained.
The handclasp between them was warm, for Uncle Jepson had been strongly attracted to this son of the plains; and the twinkle in Randerson's eyes as his met Uncle Jepson's was not to be mistaken. "So Vickers has gone," said Randerson as he dropped into a chair. "He's a mighty fine man." "Willard wanted Chavis to have his job," whispered Uncle Jepson. "You don't say!" Randerson's eyes gleamed.
"They don't, eh?" sniffed Uncle Jepson. "I cal'late that feller, Rex Randerson, is some different, ain't he? There's a gentleman, Ruth. You didn't see him makin' no ox-eyes. An' I'll bet you wouldn't ketch him gettin' thick with them two plug-uglies out there!" Ruth turned away, smiling tolerantly, after having caught a glimpse of Aunt Martha's brows, uplifted in resignation.
Uncle Jepson spoke at the same instant, and Patches halted: "I cal'late you'd better wait here." "If you insist," said Randerson. He swung off and walked to the edge of the porch, grinning mildly at Uncle Jepson.
But his voice was sharp, and it rang like the beat of a hammer upon metal: "Get on your horse!" There was no refusing that voice, and Ruth turned and ran toward her pony, with something of the confusion and guilt that overtakes a recreant child scolded by its parent. She was scarcely in the saddle when she turned to watch Randerson. He was pulling the loop from the steer's head.
"I reckon that's all, Pickett. You draw your time right now." Randerson sheathed his pistol and turned slightly sidewise to Pickett, evidently intending to come up on the porch. Ruth gasped. For she saw Pickett reach for his gun. It was drawn half out of its holster. As though he had divined what was in Pickett's mind, Randerson had turned slightly at Pickett's movement.
Why, I was just goin' to make a mighty whopper myself, by killing Rex, here. You leave this to me." He pushed her toward Randerson. "You take her back to the shack, Rex. I reckon it won't take me long to do what I'm goin' to do. I'll be back afore dark, mebbe." The girl clung to him for an instant. "Dad," she said. "What are you goin' to do?" "If you was a good guesser " said Catherson coldly.
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