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Updated: May 7, 2025
Rathburn's gaze was keen, alert, fired by the quick thinking he was doing. Stark terror showed in the other's look which gradually changed to one of haunting fear and indecision. Then his eyes became clear and he returned Rathburn's glance, cool and questioning. "Get your horse," ordered Rathburn, running to his own mount.
A man standing before an open roll-top desk turned and regarded the early-morning visitor. He was a small man, but of wiry build. His eyes were gray, and he wore a small, brown mustache. He had a firm chin, and his face was well tanned. He was holding a paper in his hands, and the paper remained as steady as a rock in his grasp. His eyes bored straight and unflinchingly into Rathburn's.
Long dropped to the floor, and Rathburn raised him and carried him to a door leading into the jail proper. As he drew open the door, he drew his gun and threw it down on the astonished jailer who was dozing in the little office outside the bars. "Open up!" Rathburn commanded. The jailer hastened to obey, as he saw the appearance of Rathburn's face and the dangerous look in his eyes.
The deadly earnestness and the note of regret in Rathburn's tone caused Sautee to forget his uneasiness temporarily and stare at the man in wonder. Rathburn's eyes were narrowed, his gaze was steel blue, and his face was drawn into hard, grim lines as he looked out upon the far-flung, glorious vista below them, broken here and there by the movement of mounted men.
On Wednesday Stub trotted into town at Rathburn's heels, and all the way down the straggling street he looked neither to the right nor to the left, so fearful did he seem that the two great boots he was following should in some way slip from his sight.
Gomez staggered back under the force of the slap. His eyes were pin points of fire. He raised his right hand to his mouth and then to the brim of his sombrero. His breath came in hissing gasps, as the hatred blazed in his glittering eyes. Rathburn's face was white under its heavy coating of tan.
Toomey changed the subject and the incident seemed forgotten, but Mrs. Rathburn's eyes rested upon Hugh frequently with a look that was inquiring and speculative. Kate's heart always hardened and her backbone stiffened involuntarily the moment she had her first glimpse of Prouty. Invariably it had this effect upon her and to-day was no different from any other.
Quick as he was, Long was quicker. The sheriff was out of his chair in a twinkling, and he made a flying tackle, grasping Rathburn about the legs. The two fell to the floor and rolled over and over in their struggles. Although Rathburn was the larger man, the sheriff seemed made of steel wire. He twisted out of Rathburn's holds, one after another.
Kate's voice was curt, incisive, her tone final. "He can't use a dog on these Rambouillets they're high-strung, nervous, different from the merinos. Anyway, I won't have it." She swung about to indicate that the conversation was ended. "That's all Greek to me. Do you understand it, Hugh?" Miss Rathburn's lofty drawl, her faintly patronizing manner, all indicated amusement.
First he stared into Rathburn's eyes, and then he glanced to the gun in the holster on his thigh. "Couldn't have been very much afraid of you," he said sneeringly. "I see they didn't even take your gun." "It all come from my not knowin' enough about the trails, I guess," Rathburn explained lamely. "Got me on the far end of the hogback. Two of 'em. Had their guns in my face before I knew it.
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