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Updated: April 30, 2025
Corrigan cursed and grunted, but lunged forward again. They swung at the same instant Trevison's right just grazing Corrigan's jaw; Corrigan's blow, full and sweeping, thudding against Trevison's left ear. Trevison's head rolled, his chin sagged to his chest, and his knees doubled like hinges. Corrigan smirked malevolently and drove forward again.
He saw from her downcast manner that she had failed. His face darkened. "Wouldn't work, eh? What did he say?" The woman was hunched down in her chair, still wearing the cloak that she had worn in Trevison's office; the collar still up, the front thrown open. Her hair was disheveled; dark lines were under her eyes; she glared at Corrigan in an abandon of savage dejection. "He turned me down cold."
He escorted her to the step of the private car, and lingered a moment there to make his apology for his part in the trouble. He told her frankly, that he was to blame, knowing that Trevison's action in riding him down would more than outweigh any resentment she might feel over his mistake in bringing about the clash in her presence.
He stiffened at this, for it corroborated Corrigan's words: "She is heart and soul with me in this deal, She is ambitious." Trevison's lips curled scornfully. First, Hester Keyes had been ambitious, and now it was Rosalind Benham. He fought off the bitter resentment that filled him and raised his head, laughing, glossing over the hurt with savage humor.
"Oh, I don't know," whispered the girl, gulping hard to keep her voice from breaking. "It's something about Trevison's land. And I'm afraid, Aunty, that there is something terribly wrong. Mr. Corrigan says it belongs to him, and the court in Manti has decided in his favor. But according to the record in Trevison's possession, he has a clear title to it."
It looked simple enough, the way the black was doing it, and Trevison's demeanor indicated perfect trust in the animal and in his own skill as a rider.
But now he followed Corrigan's lead and threw his hat from him. Then he crouched and faced Corrigan. They circled cautiously, Trevison's spurs jingling musically. Then Trevison went in swiftly, jabbing with his left, throwing off Corrigan's vicious counter with the elbow, and ripping his right upward. The fist met Corrigan's arm as the latter blocked, and the shock forced both men back a step.
A wooden box on the other side of the partition intervened, but above it he could see the form of the deputy. The man was stretched out in a chair, sideways to the crevice in the wall, sleeping. A grin of huge satisfaction spread over Trevison's face. His movements were very deliberate and cautious.
Rosalind was not in the best of spirits, herself, for during the ride to the ranchhouse she had been sending subtly-questioning shafts at the foreman questions that mostly concerned Trevison and they had all fell, blunted and impotent, from the armor of Barkwell's reticence. But a glance at Trevison's face, ludicrous in its expression of stunned amazement, brought a broad smile to her own.
Trevison's leap upon Braman had been swift; he was back in the doorway instantly, looking at Corrigan, his eyes ablaze with rage, wild, reckless, bitter. He laughed the sound of it brought a grayish pallor to Corrigan's face. "That explains your nerve!" he taunted. "It's a frame-up. You sent the deputy after me pointed me out when I went into Hanrahan's! That's how he knew me!
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