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Updated: June 27, 2025
He rode a dun horse with golden dapples a slim, proud thing which suited Runyon in every detail. When you saw him mounted you thought of a parade; you wondered where the rest of it was the supernumerary complement. The man was also characterized by the male contingent of the border as a "dresser." He was always immaculately clad, despite the exposure to which his work subjected him.
Phelps, very genial, "and we trust you will not oppose the officers of the law in the exercise of their functions." "I don't want to oppose anybody when it's four to one," says I, equally genial, "though may I make so bold as to inquire who is Runyon Rufe and what's he done?" "Never heard of Runyon Rufe!" says Nettleship, like it was George Washington or Alfred the Great.
Nevertheless, Sylvia regretted that second glance. It had an effect upon her heart which was far from soothing; and when she realized that her heart seemed suddenly to hurt her, her conscience followed suit and hurt her too. She closed the window righteously; though she was careful not to do so until she felt sure that Runyon was beyond sight and hearing.
And she knew that from the beginning she had hoped that Runyon would appear. "It's that inspector fellow," explained Harboro, without looking at her. His tone was not at all contemptuous, though there was a note of amusement in it. "He seems a sort of Prince Charming that everybody takes a liking to." Wayne and Valdez were already returning, with Runyon between them.
Sylvia and Runyon had made a run for it and had got home before the worst of it came, she had said. But Harboro and the General Manager had waited until the storm had spent itself, both sitting in the carriage with their handkerchiefs pressed to their nostrils, and their coats drawn up about their heads.
But she was reflecting, despite her joy in the saying: "No, everything is always ending." Runyon was borne away like a conqueror. He mingled with this group and that. His presence was like a stimulant. His musical voice penetrated everywhere; his laughter arose now and again. He did not look back toward Sylvia.
Fortunately, Runyon knew what to do in that hour of earth's desolation and his own and Sylvia's peril. He sprang from his horse and drew his bridle-rein over his arm; and then he laid a firm hand on the bridle of Sylvia's horse. His own animal he could trust in such an emergency; but the other had seemed to lose in height and he knew that it was trembling.
He was not a practised horseman, and he was beginning to feel the effect of saddle strain. Moreover, he had realized a dozen times during the past hour that two could ride easily side by side on the desert road, while a third rider was continually getting in the way. He called to Runyon cheerfully: "You two go on ahead I'm going to ride the rest of the way in." "Fine!" called back Runyon.
He looked at Harboro ponderingly, as a child may look at an unreasoning parent. And then he became alert again as Harboro threw at him contemptuously: "Go on; get out!" Sylvia did not look at Runyon as he picked up his coat and hat and vanished. She did not realize that he had achieved a perfect middle ground between an undignified escape and a too deliberate going.
Runyon had not ceased to regard him alertly with an expression which can be described only as one of infinite distaste with the acute discomfort of an irrepressible creature who shrinks from serious things. "I am not," he said, as if his integrity were being unwarrantably questioned. Harboro's voice had been strained like that of a man who is dying of thirst.
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