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Updated: May 10, 2025
His arm slipped around her shoulder. "Take yore time," he advised. A second shift of the breeze had swept the smoke away. This had saved their lives, but it had also given Snaith's men another chance at them A bullet whistled past the head of Clanton, who was for the time a few yards from his friends. Instantly he whipped the rifle up and fired. "No luck" he grumbled.
"From any point of view," said Snaith obstinately. "The man breaks into your house, steals your jewels " "This is getting tiresome," Maitland interrupted curtly. "Is it possible that you suspect me of conniving at the theft of my own property?" Snaith's eyes were keen upon him. "Stranger things have been known. And yet the motive is lacking.
I'll see if I can get a man to take a message to your friends." A smile came out on his lean, strong face. "You're a good friend." "I'm no friend of yours," she flashed back. "But I won't have my father spoiling the view by hanging you where I might see you when I ride." "You're Wallace Snaith's daughter, I reckon." "Yes. And no man that rides for Homer Webb can be a friend of mine." "Sorry.
I can't stand between him an' the consequences of his acts. He's got to play his own hand." "Did Dave Roush an' Mysterious Pete seem pretty friendly?" "Thicker than three in a bed." "Looks bad." Billie came to another phase of the situation. "How does it happen that Snaith's outfit have let Jim stay here without gettin' after him?
Even if he got out of his present danger alive and Billie had to admit to himself that the chances did not look good he knew it would be cast up to him some day that he had used Lee Snaith's presence as a shield against his enemies. "Why don't you act reasonable an' ride back to town, like a girl ought to do? You've been a good friend to us. There's nothin' more you can do.
Snaith's intentions toward Clanton and Prince had to be postponed for the present, the cattleman discovered a few minutes later. When he and Lee emerged from the river-bed to the bank above, the first thing he saw was a group of cowpunchers shaking hands gayly with the two fugitives. His jaw dropped. "Where in Mexico did they come from?" he asked himself aloud.
It is Snaith's "Broke of Covenden," and it scarce attained a second edition. I do not say that it is a Classic I should not like to be positive that it is not but I am perfectly sure that the man who wrote it has the possibility of a Classic within him. Here is another novel "Eight Days," by Forrest. You can't buy it. You are lucky even if you can find it in a library.
But," with a rueful smile, "I'll take the liberty of countermanding Mr. Snaith's order. If he should call again, O'Hagan, I very much want to see him." "Faith, and 'tis mesilf will have a worrud or two to whispher in the ear av him, sor," announced O'Hagan grimly. "I'm afraid the opportunity will be lacking: ... You may fix me a hot bath now, O'Hagan, and put out my evening clothes.
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