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Updated: May 31, 2025
And there, almost directly under the marked way leading down, lay a tiny camp the ashes of a dead fire, a gun against a tree, and here Tharon leaned far out and looked as if her very spirit would penetrate the distance a blanket spread on the level earth, on which there lay the body of a man!
All the Valley stood off and admired Jim Last's daughter. Pete basked in the reflected light. And Tharon herself had taken his gnarled old hand one day in Baston's store and called him a thoroughbred. Folks in Lost Valley were chary of words, conservative to the last degree. That simple word, the handclasp, the look in the clear blue eyes, had been his eulogy.
But reason as he might, the face of Tharon Last came back to haunt him, waking or asleep. He knew that it troubled him and was, in a way, ashamed. So he worked hard at his tasks, relocated boundaries, marked them with a peculiar blaze in convenient trees which looked something like this: and set up monuments with odd and undecipherable hieroglyphics upon them.
"Who can it be, to come so, Señorita?" wondered Paula, her brown cheek beside her mistress, "is he not handsome!" "For mercy sake, Paula," chided Tharon laughing, "I believe you'd look for beauty in th' ol' Nick himself if he rode up. But I've seen this man before." "Where? When?" "In town that day I met Courtrey an' Service.
With the first sink-and-lift Tharon had slipped back a full span. Now she wound her fingers in the white cloud of mane that flailed her face and edged up, inch by inch. When her knees were well up on the huge shoulders that worked beneath them powerfully, she gathered the reins, one in each hand, leaned down along the outstretched neck and let the great king run.
There were faces, many faces, that looked back at him with steady eyes and tight lips.... Verily it was time he conquered the riding, shooting, beautiful she-devil who had made this thing possible! The sooner he got Tharon Last away from this bunch of spawn the better. Then he would sweep in with all his old swift methods, only sharper ones this time, and "clean" them all.
Tharon Last, riding close after the calm fashion of a strong man in the face of tragedy, thought pensively of that night in spring when this little old man had taken his life in his hands to save her own.
"Lord, Lord," said Billy to himself, "she's listenin' when he speaks like she never listened to any one before!" In Kenset's mind drilled over and over again the ceaseless thought "A hand or a heart she could hit them both with ease. It's true, true, she's a gun woman! Oh, Tharon, Tharon!" and he did not know he spoke her name beneath his breath.
Out in the horse corrals there were many more of their breed, slim, wiry horses, toughened and hardened by long hours and daily work, but these were the flower of Last's, the prized favourites. For a long time Tharon sat and watched them, noting their perfect condition, their glistening skins, their shining hoofs, many of which were striped, another characteristic.
And Tharon, standing in the twilight like a slim white ghost, was staring over their heads, her lips ashen, the scrawled letter trembling in her hands. For this is what she read, straining her young eyes in the fading light. "Tharon. You must know by now that I mean bisness. All this Vigilant bisness ain't a-goin' to help things eny.
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