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Updated: May 31, 2025
Their voices mingled the Judge's low, quavering; Trevison's full, deep, sympathetic. After a while a rider appeared out of the starlit haze of the plains below them. The Judge started. Trevison laughed. "It's Clay Levins, Judge. I've been watching him for half an hour. He'll stay here with you while I go after the record. Under the bottom drawer, eh?" Levins hallooed to them.
They fled down the track, running heavily, for the work had been fast and the tension great, and when they reached the horses and threw themselves into the saddles, Manti was ablaze with light. As they raced away in the darkness a grim smile wreathed Trevison's face.
He heard threats, mutterings, against Corrigan, and he laughed, bidding the men to hold their peace, that it was a "fair fight." Corrigan was unmoved by the threats as he was unmoved by Trevison's words. He leaned against the wall, weak, his arms hanging at his sides, his face macerated, grinning contemptuously.
Then, under the urge of Trevison's gentle hand and voice, the black wheeled again and faced the descent. "I wouldn't ride a horse down there for the damned railroad!" declared Murphy. "Thrue for ye ye c'udn't," grinned Carson. "A man could ride anywhere with a horse like that!" remarked the fireman, fascinated.
The silence grew deeper; the tension was so great that when somewhere a man dropped a shovel, it startled the watchers like a sudden bomb. It was plain that Trevison's men wanted to fight. It was equally plain that Trevison was arguing to dissuade them.
The cold savagery in it had paralyzed him, and he gasped as Trevison's eyes found him, and the pistol that he tried to raise dangled futilely from his nerveless fingers. It thudded heavily upon the boards of the floor an instant later, a shriek of fear mingling with the sound as he went down in a heap from a vicious, deadening blow from Trevison's fist.
Vainly Trevison writhed, seeking a position which would betray a weakened muscle, but though he exerted every ounce of his own mighty strength Corrigan held him even. They broke at last, mutually, and Corrigan must have felt the leathery quality of Trevison's muscles, for his face was set in serious lines.
Others were laying tracks that intersected with the main line; still others were erecting buildings along the level. They were on Trevison's land there was no doubt of that. Moreover, they were erecting their buildings and apparatus at the point where Trevison himself had contemplated making a start.
Corrigan broke open his office an' stole it. Trevison's certain sure his deed was on the record, for he went to Dry Bottom with Buck Peters the man he bought the land from an' seen it wrote down on the record!" He laughed harshly. "There's goin' to be hell to pay here. Trevison won't stand for it though the other gillies are advisin' caution. Caution hell! I'm for cleanin' the scum out!
And that last blow had sapped Trevison's strength; his spirit alone had survived the drunken orgy of rage and hatred.
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