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Updated: May 31, 2025
The two had come in from the river range ostensibly to confer with Trevison regarding their work, but in reality to satisfy their curiosity over Trevison's movements. There was a deep current of concern for him under their accusations. They had found the ranchhouse dark and deserted.
The big man was wabbling crazily about in the general direction of Trevison, swinging his arms wildly, Trevison evading him, snapping home blows that landed smackingly without doing much damage. They served merely to keep Corrigan in the semi-comatose state in which Trevison's last hard blow had left him.
Corrigan had yielded to an impulse of obstinacy provoked by Trevison's assault on him. It was not good business it was almost childish; but it was human to feel that way. She felt a slight disappointment in Corrigan, though; the action did not quite accord with her previous estimate of him. She did not know what to think of Trevison.
She saw Barkwell lunging through the press to gain Trevison's side; she got a glimpse of him a minute later, near Trevison. The street had become a sea of jostling, shoving men and prancing horses. She wanted to get away somewhere to shut this sight from her eyes. For though one horror was over, another impended. She knew it, but could not move.
"I got hell from Benham for destroying Trevison's check he wired me to attend to my other deals and let him run the railroad the damned old fool! You must have taken the cash to Trevison I see the gang's working again." "The cash went," said the banker, watching Corrigan covertly, "but I didn't take it. J. C. wired explicit orders for his daughter to act."
"The minute you tell me where that record is." The Judge subsided. A moment later Trevison's voice floated into the chamber, cold and resonant: "I don't think you're in this thing for money, Judge. Corrigan has some sort of a hold on you. What is it?" The Judge did not answer. The sun climbed to the zenith. It grew intensely hot in the chamber.
He dared not use his own pistol, lest its flash reveal his whereabouts, and he knew he would have no chance against the odds that were against him. Nor was he intent on murder. He flung himself into the saddle, and for the first time since he had come into Trevison's possession Nigger knew the bite of spurs earnestly applied.
Trevison could see no sign of the Judge or Levins. The ledge was bare, aglow, the openings of the communal houses facing it loomed dark, like the doors of tombs. A ghastly, unearthly silence greeted Trevison's call after the echoes died away; the upper tier of adobe boxes seemed to nod in ghostly derision as his gaze swept them.
Manti dominated the landscape, not because it was big and imposing, but because it was new. Manti's buildings were scattered there had been no need for crowding; but from a distance from Trevison's distance, for instance, which was a matter of three miles or so Manti looked insignificant, toy-like, in comparison with the vast world on whose bosom it sat. Manti seemed futile, ridiculous.
At the instant he was preparing to stoop to crawl back into the bank building, the deputy in the chair yawned, stretched and opened his eyes, staring stupidly at him. There was no mistaking the dancing glitter in Trevison's eyes, no possible misinterpretation of his tense, throaty whisper: "One chirp and you're a dead one!" And the deputy stiffened in the chair, dumb with astonishment and terror.
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