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Updated: May 12, 2025
Bull did not make too much noise. In fact, he made hardly any. It is safe to say that he never progressed more quietly in his life. The man with the bowie steered him to a safe haven behind a fat white boulder half buried in sumac. "Si'down," requested the captor in a conversational tone. "We can be right comfortable here." "Dawson!" breathed the captive.
"Took you a long time to find it out," said Racey Dawson. "Si'down, I said," he added, sharply. Bull obeyed, his back against the rock, and was careful not to lower his hands. Racey hunkered down and sat on a spurless heel. The rifle was under his knee. He had exchanged the bowie for a sixshooter. The firearm was trained in the general direction of Bull's stomach. Racey smiled widely.
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