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Updated: May 7, 2025
This man Sikkem. If he were one of the Orrville gang, what was more likely than that he should have sent that threat? If he sent it, what more likely than that he was one of the gang of rustlers operating here? If he were one of them, then what added significance did it give threat? A wave of sudden excitement replaced the panic of a moment before. "The only way we know."
She sprang to her feet. Every other thought was swept from her mind. And, for a moment, fresh panic stirred her veins. The words of that message. They were unforgettable. "You sold the lives of men for a price. You had your way then. We're goin' to have our way now. You'll pay for that deal the only way we know." The only way we know! Her memory flew to the man Sikkem. Oh, she knew him.
But the face which was now turned down the river was no longer the face which had confronted Sikkem Bruce. It was ghastly. It was the face of a soul-tortured woman. "She was jest one of them vampire sorts who'd sell her soul fer a price, yes, an' sell any man's life that way, too."
The rest took seconds. We stood clear, as you said, guessing you meant a run for it. The place was ablaze. When the door fell we saw it all. You were near it. Beyond you were two men. Sikkem was one. They were against the far wall, sideways from the door. They had guns in their hands. They meant finishing you anyway, whatever happened after.
Who is going to harm Jeff?" The sharp authority, so prompt, so unexpected, dragged the distraught woman into some command of herself. She raised her head. Her eyes were hot with unshed tears. They looked into Nan's, so urgent, yet so full of a steadfast sanity. "It's Sikkem," she cried, steadying herself. "He's sent in to say he's badly shot up.
Get me?" The frigidity of the saloon-keeper's manner was over-powering. The man called Sikkem was unequal in words to such a challenge. A flush slowly dyed his lean cheeks, and an angry depression of the brows suggested something passionate and forceful. Just for a moment many eyes glanced in his direction. The saloon-keeper was steadily regarding him.
"I'll convey your report. What's your name? You didn't give it me." "Sikkem. Sikkem Bruce. I'm out at Spruce Crossing, back ther' in the hills. It's jest a piece. Mebbe three miles, wher' this stream makes a joining with the Gophir Creek. Say " "Well?" Elvine inquired as he paused. "You ain't makin' no complaint to the boss, ma'am? It was jest a darn fool mistake of mine. It surely was.
She saw in her mind the claiming of the toll these men demanded, and to her swift imagination the picture of her husband's murder was complete before her eyes. "Sikkem comes from Orrville. He was there four years ago. There was more than suspicion attached to him. My first day here I met him. Maybe you'll remember. He knew me at once. I don't guess there was any mistake. And I knew him.
He gave her to the full that reassurance of which she stood in need. But for all his sincerity it was as useless as if it had been left unspoken. The letter from Dug McFarlane at Orrville, the recognition of her by the man Sikkem Bruce, had warned Elvine that the sands of her time of happiness were running out. She felt she knew that a gape of despair was already yawning at her feet.
In a flash she was back in Orrville, and her mind was searching amongst shadowy memories that had suddenly become acute. Sikkem! Sikkem! No. She must see Jeff. She must tell him of Sikkem. She must warn him, and show him her note. A sudden, crushing foreboding descended upon her, and she hurried toward the door. In a few seconds she was on the veranda confronting her husband.
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