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Updated: September 8, 2025
Before supper-time they were back in Los Robles. Yeager was roused from sleep next morning by a knock at the door. His visitor was Fleming Lennox, leading man of the company. "Say, Steve, what about Threewit and Farrar? I just telephoned to the Lazy B Ranch and the foreman says his boys did not run across them. You know what that means. They've reached old Pasquale's camp."
"You gotta tell me what's on your chest, you transparent kid." He knew she could keep a secret like a well. Looking round guardedly, his voice fell to a whisper. "If I'd reached town ten minutes earlier I'd 'a' beat him in and showed him up. Threewit won't hear to it, of course, but the man that held me up was Chad Harrison. Take it or leave it. Just the same it's a fact."
Steve put an arm across her shoulder awkwardly. "Now, don't you, Mrs. Seymour. Don't you take on. We'll get right on his trail." He turned abruptly to Orman. "Get horses saddled. We'll hit the road right away. Daisy, call up Threewit and let him know. I'll take your gat, Shorty." The edge of decision was in his voice.
A fairy tale to explain how-come your faithful cowboys to drap asleep and let the bunch stray. I reckon a little too much redeye in camp is the c'rect explanation." Yeager smiled, saying nothing. "And now I'm going to beat it for the hay again, Mr. Threewit. If you recollect, I told you some one was going to blow up pretty soon. Good-night."
Good enough. I've got you both where I want you now. You'll get plenty of hell, take my word for it." Threewit turned with dignity to the Mexican. "I have nothing to say to this man, Major Culvera. But you are a gentleman. We have been deceived. I ask for an escort as far as the border to see us safely back." Culvera was full of bland hospitality.
Anyhow, folks that are blind can't see. I'll keep my notions in my own fool haid for a while." "Harrison has some friends across the line. He's going to try and fix it for the kid if they run him down." "That's fine," commented Yeager dryly. "He sure must have influential friends." "All ready, Mr. Threewit," called out Cummings. The director lit a cigar and moved forward to the stage.
"Sorry you tied that can on him, Mr. Threewit. He's not just the man I'd choose for an enemy if I was picking one." "Had to do it sometime. The sooner the quicker. Anyhow, he hasn't got it in for me as much as he has for you." Yeager shrugged. "Oh, me. That's different. 'Course he hates me thorough, but I'm sorry you got mixed in it." "What difference does it make? He can't hurt me any."
He had chafed long enough under the domineering ways of the ex-prizefighter. Moreover, Harrison was no longer so essential to the company. Yeager was a far better rider and could register more effectively the feats of horsemanship that were a feature of the Lunar films. Billie Threewit had known for some time that this man was an element of disorganization in the company.
Threewit came to Steve while Cummings was preparing the stage set for a dissolve. "Wish you'd look over this scenario, Yeager. The old man sent it out to me to see if we can pull off the riding end of it. Scene twenty-seven is the sticker. Here's the idea: You've been thrown from your horse and your foot's caught in the stirrup.
Threewit showed it to me before he left." "And Mr. Harrison told us it was true," corroborated Mrs. Seymour. She knew something was wrong, but as yet she could not guess what. "Harrison! Has he been here?" asked Yeager sharply. "He and Ruth left this afternoon for Noche Buena. He said you wanted to see her before you died and he showed us the letter you had written."
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