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Updated: June 6, 2025
Would she throw him over now after she heard the story of the cowpuncher? His eyes were still fastened sulkily on the note while he was slowly realizing these things. One line seemed to stand out from the rest. Bust up that marriage if you can. Harrison ground his teeth with impotent rage. This range-rider always had interfered with his affairs from the first moment he had met him.
After grizzled Tim Sawyer made bowlegged tracks straight for that schoolmarm and matrimony, his friends realized that the joyous whoop of the puncher would not much longer be heard in the land. The range-rider must dwindle to a farmer or get off the earth. Steve was getting off the earth.
He gave no credit to the man's assertion that they would be watched from the bushes. The leader of the rustlers was already half a mile away, lengthening the distance between them at every stride of his galloping horse. The range-rider knew that their horses had probably been driven away, but he knew, too, that if Four Bits was within hearing of his whistle he could be depended upon to answer.
His name was given to me as Rifle-Eye Bill, because I was told he had been a famous hunter before he joined the Service. I thought at first you might be the Ranger, but he was described to me as being very tall." "Which he does look some like a Sahaura cactus on the Arizona deserts," said the range-rider, "an' I surely favor him none.
It was a mixed masculine multitude, fairly typical of time, place and occasion; stalwart men of the soil for the greater part, bearded and bronzed and rough-clothed, with here and there a range-rider in picturesque leathern shaps, sagging pistols and wide-flapped sombrero. Loring stood aside and put up his eye-glasses.
"No," answered Wilbur quickly, scenting a story, "I never even heard of him. Who was he?" "This same Joe," began the range-rider, "is a tow-haired specimen whose manly form decorates the streets of this here metropolis of Sumber that you've been admirin'. He has the name of bein' the most agile proposition on a trigger that ever shot the spots off a ten o' clubs.
The prizefighter looked vindictively down at him. He was not satisfied, though he had given the range-rider such a whaling as few men could stand up and take. For the conviction was sifting home to him that he had not beaten the man at all. His pile-driver blows had hammered down his body, but the spirit of him shone dauntless out of the gay, unconquerable eyes.
The prizefighter showed both in face and manner a certain stiff sullenness. He was insisting upon some point to which there was determined opposition. As the general turned half toward him once, the range-rider saw in his little black eyes an alert and greedy cunning he did not understand. The woman broke out into violent protest. "I won't do it. I won't.
Presently he gave a call that brought an answer. The horses were grazing in a loose herd that covered perhaps a third of an acre. From behind them emerged a youth on horseback. "I want four horses in a hurry," announced the range-rider. "What for?" "Never mind what for, compadre. I didn't ask old Gabriel what for when he sent me," grumbled the messenger. "Why didn't you say for Pasquale?"
On a side table were cigars, cigarettes, and liquor in plenty. Holcomb intended to see that his guests were properly entertained while Steve played the bigger and more dangerous game outside. The range-rider knew that the odds were against him, that any one of fifty trifling accidents might bring to failure the plan he had made.
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