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Updated: June 14, 2025
It had filled her soul with disappointment, at least; repugnance and loathing were not very far away. She had almost been persuaded, that day when he had taught her how to use the pistol. The killing of Pickett had grown dim and distant in her mental vision; Randerson had become a compelling figure that dominated her thoughts. But this second killing!
Randerson had been rather silent for the past few days since he had ridden in to the ranchhouse, and he had been silent tonight, gazing thoughtfully at the fire. Owen's gaze finally centered on the range boss. It rested there for a time, and then roved to the face of the new man Dorgan, he called himself. Owen started, and his chin went forward, his lips straightening.
"Dorgan ain't swallerin' your yarn about Randerson puttin' a kink in Kelso," he said to Blair. Randerson turned, a mild grin on his face. "You fellows quit your soft-soapin' about that run-in with Kelso," he said. "There ain't any compliments due me. I was pretty lucky to get out of that scrape with a whole hide. They told me Kelso's gun got snagged when he was tryin' to draw it."
Aunt Martha looked at him over the rims of her spectacles, wonderment in her gaze perhaps a little belligerence. "Jep Coakley," she said severely, "you're always runnin' down the women! What on earth do you live with one for? What are the women doin' now, that you are botherin' so much about?" He gravely took her by the arm and pointed out of a window, from which Ruth and Randerson could be seen.
He felt the effects of the effort, but he was well warmed to his work now and he loped, though with many a snort of impatience and toss of the head, by which he tried to convey to his master his eagerness to be allowed to have his will. On the crest of a hill he was drawn to a halt, while Randerson scanned the country around him.
It was an hour before Randerson rode up to the edge of the porch, and when Patches came to a halt, and her range boss sat loosely in the saddle, looking down at her, she was composed, even though her cheeks were still a little red. "You sent for me, ma'am." It was the employee speaking to his "boss."
"You're thinkin' it's a yowl," said another. "But you've got him wrong. He's a jackass, come a-courtin'." "A man can't get no sleep at all, scarcely," grumbled another. But Owen had accomplished his purpose. For during the exchange of amenities Randerson had answered him without turning, though: "What you wantin', Red?" he said. "You figger we've got 'em all out of the timber?" repeated Owen.
A little later, riding back toward the Flying W when they had reached the timber-fringed level where, on another day, Masten had received his thrashing, Ruth halted her pony and faced her escort. "Randerson," she said, "today Uncle Jepson told me some things that I never knew about Masten's plots against you. I don't blame you for killing those men.
And she thought of Randerson; of his seriousness and his earnestness when he had said: "I reckon you don't know hate or fear or desperation.... Out here things run loose, an' if you stay here long enough, some day you'll meet them an' recognize them for your own an' you'll wonder how you ever got along without them."
They traveled the trail that Randerson had taken on the night he had found Ruth on the rock; they negotiated the plain that spread between the ranchhouse and the ford where Randerson had just missed meeting Ruth that day; they went steadily over the hilly country and passed through the section of broken land where Ruth's pony had thrown her.
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