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Updated: May 13, 2025
He threw a cloth over her face, and sat staring into vacancy until the undertaker and assistants came. Then he took the undertaker aside and said: "See to it that she has a Christian burial. I will be responsible." When she was buried the next day, there was one attendant beside the undertaker and his assistants, at the grave. The tragedies of the night marked a new era in Saguache.
A railroad survey had been completed through the town, and public works had been projected by the newly-elected city council. A new era was dawning for Saguache. The hall was crowded, as one citizen after another spoke of the future possibilities of the town, and a good government that would no longer tolerate a lawless element.
The members of the family came to find the cause of her outcry and found her in a flood of tears. They read the dispatch and knew the cause. The paper was two days old from San Francisco. What could she do? She must know at once. She went to the telegraph office and sent a message of inquiry to the mayor of Saguache. It was twelve o'clock when the message came: "Lines all down in San Luis valley."
But Kate understood the boy's unspoken wish and nodded her head reassuringly as he left the room. Kite Bonfils and Maloney took Curly back to Saguache and turned him over to Sheriff Bolt. "How about bail?" Maloney asked. The sheriff smiled. He was a long lean leather-faced man with friendly eyes from which humorous wrinkles radiated. "You honing to go bail for him, Dick?" "How much?"
For straight stick-to-your-saddle work I know my boss, and his name is Dick Maloney." "We'll know to-morrow," Laura London summed up. As it turned out, Maloney was the better prophet. Curly won the first prize of five hundred dollars and the championship belt. Dick took second place. Saguache, already inclined to make a hero of the young rustler, went wild over his victory.
Mechanically she scanned the headlines of the paper when her eye caught the line: "Imprisoned Miners in Snow-slide; Relief Party Working Night and Day." "Saguache, Colo. Word reached here last night that John Buchan and James Winslow, miners working a claim on the Sangre de Christo range, were buried in their cabin beneath a snow slide.
Cranston asked. A muscle twitched in Flandrau's cheek. "They got Mac." "Got him! Where? At Saguache?" "Ran us down near the Circle C. Mac opened fire. They killed him." "Shot him, or ?" Curly was left to guess the other half of the question. "Shot him, and took me prisoner." "They couldn't prove a thing, could they?" "They could prove I wounded Cullison. That was enough for them.
Luck left his three riders to help in the man hunt, but he returned with Curly and Maloney to Saguache. On the pommel of his saddle was a sack. It contained the loot from the express car of the Flyer. Two lives already had been sacrificed to get it, and the sum total taken amounted only to one hundred ninety-four dollars and sixteen cents.
When he reached the foot of the Sangre de Christo range, through the great depths of snow, he saw the fearful havoc of the snow slide and noted the slanting position of the edgewise cliff. Thinking it was of but recent occurrence, he hurried to Saguache and gave the alarm that two of his companions were buried beneath the mountain of snow.
The old Arizona fashion of settling a difference of opinion with the six-gun had long fallen into disuse, but Saguache was still close enough to the stark primeval emotions to wait with a keen interest for the crack of the revolver that would put a period to the quarrel between Soapy Stone and young Flandrau.
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