United States or Vatican City ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Against the partition, which was still swaying, his arms outstretched, a pistol in one hand, trying to crowd still farther back to escape the searching glance of Trevison's eyes, was Braman. He had overheard Trevison's tense whisper to Corrigan.
Also two other buildings, one on each side of the two that had been destroyed, scorched and warped, but otherwise undamaged. "Come pretty near burning the whole town. It took some work to confine that fire coal oil. Trevison did a clean job. Robbed the safe in the bank. Killed Braman guzzled him. An awful complete job, from Trevison's viewpoint.
She heard Trevison's voice, muttering in protest, but his words, like her shriek, were lost in the confusion of sound. She saw him fling his arms wide, sending Barkwell and another man reeling from him; he reached for the pistol at his side and leveled it at the crowd. Those nearest him shrank, their faces blank with fear and astonishment.
His feat of riding down the wall of the cut had not been performed to impress anyone; the look of reckless abandon in the otherwise serene eyes that held Murphy's steadily, convinced the engineer that the man had merely responded to a dare-devil impulse. There was something in Trevison's appearance that suggested an entire disregard of fear.
Now what in hell do you think of that?" "I knew Dick Kessler," said Trevison, soberly. "He was honest." "Square as a dollar!" violently affirmed Lefingwell. "It's too bad," sympathized Trevison. "That places you in a mighty bad fix. If there's anything I can do for you, why " "Mr. 'Brand' Trevison?" said a voice at Trevison's elbow.
Directed at the town it relieved the pressure of their resentment over Trevison's habit of depending upon himself. For, secretly, both were interested admirers of Manti's growing importance. Time was measured by their desires. Sometime before midnight Barkwell got up, yawned and stretched. "Sleep suits me. If 'Firebrand' ain't reckonin' on a guardian, I ain't surprisin' him none.
He smiled blandly, though there was a snapping alertness in his eyes that belied his apparent calmness. He turned to Gieger, ignoring Trevison. "Organization is the thing. Pickand is a genius at it," he said. Trevison's eyes flamed with rage over this deliberate insult. But in it he saw a cold design to make him lose his temper. The knowledge brought a twisting smile to his face.
It came from behind him it sounded like a warning, and he wheeled, to see Carson running toward him, not more than ten feet distant, waving his hands, a huge smile on his face. "Domned if it ain't Trevison!" he yelled as he lunged forward and caught Trevison's right hand in his own, pulling the rider toward him.
He was still cool, however, but it was the crafty coolness of the trained fighter, and as Corrigan crowded him he whipped in ripping blows that sent the big man's head back. Corrigan paid little heed to the blows; he shook them off, grunting. Blood was trickling thinly from his lips; he spat bestially over Trevison's shoulder in a clinch, and tried to sweep the latter from his feet.
He stifled a moan or tried to and did not succeed, for it reached Trevison's ears and he turned quickly. "Did you call, Judge?" "Yes, yes!" whispered the Judge, hoarsely. "I want to tell you everything! I have longed to tell you all along!"
Word Of The Day