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Updated: May 8, 2025
He raised himself to a sitting posture. He sought support from the wall behind him. Then, with unbroken nerve, he raised both Sikkem's guns, one in each hand. Without a tremor he held them, and his aim took in the two points at which he felt the remaining foe were advancing upon him. Oh, for one moment of light wherein to assure himself!
His body seemed poised ready for everything that could possibly happen. The latent power and vigor of his movements were tremendous. He carried no weapons of defense in view, and his dress was a simple loose jacket over a cotton shirt, and, for nether garments, a pair of loose riding breeches which terminated in soft leather top-boots. Sikkem's eyes were on him the whole time.
"This Sikkem. I don't like him. But " Nan dismissed the matter in her own way. "Sikkem's been on the ranch nigh three years. He's a cattleman first, and hates rustlers worse than poison. But he's tough. Oh, he's tough, all right. I wouldn't gamble a pea-shuck he hasn't quite a dandy bunch of notches on his gun. But we're used to his sort."
The movement beyond the door again penetrated the silence of the hut. Now it was that the ranchman made his mistake. Only for an instant did he turn his head and eyes in the direction of the sound. But it was sufficient. Jeff's voice rasped again. "Stand up, darn you! Stand up!" Sikkem's gaze came back abruptly, and on the instant his right hand flew to his waist for his guns.
"They're out. Bin out since daylight. An' I guess they've as much chance roundin' that crowd up as they would huntin' bugs in a hundred acre pasture. Sikkem's about the brightest. But he ain't no sort o' good after a bunch of rustlers. I wouldn't trust him with a dead mule o' mine anyway. The boss hangs to him as if he was the on'y blamed cowpuncher east o' the mountains because he's handy.
He raised one of Sikkem's guns. It was heavy, and a sense of pleasure filled him as he felt the enormous bore of the muzzle with one finger. Stealthily he raised himself to his full height behind his barrier. He leveled his gun at a spot just below the right hand window, where the wall rose up out of the floor. There was no obstacle intervening.
He says he's located the rustlers' camp and must hand Jeff the news before while he has time. Jeff's gone out there, and Sikkem's one of the gang and escaped from Orrville four years ago." "How d'you know?" It was Bud's heavy voice put the question. It was full of stern command. "I've seen him. I know him, and he knows me. He he wrote this and sent it me." Elvine thrust the crumpled note at Bud.
There was no suggestion of anger in his attitude, merely cat-like watchfulness. Their eyes met. Then the cloud abruptly lifted from Sikkem's brow, and he laughed with unsmiling, black eyes. The saloon-keeper rinsed a glass and unconcernedly began to wipe it. The incident was allowed to pass.
These folk don't reckon to show themselves in daytime, and I guess they were traveling from the direction of Spruce Crossing." "That's where the man Sikkem's stationed," said Elvine. "Sure. But I don't guess they been near his shanty. They wouldn't fancy gettin' around Sikkem's lay-out in daytime. You see, he's sudden." Nan's confidence was not without its effect. But Elvine was less sure.
But the muzzle of Jeff's revolver was within a foot of his head, and behind it his coldly shining eyes. Sikkem's hand dropped from his waist. He stood up. The law of the gun was powerfully ingrained upon his mind. "Loose those guns at your waist quick! Let 'em drop on the bunk! Quick, or I'll pump you full of lead!" The deadliness of Jeff's command was irresistible.
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