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Updated: June 28, 2025
He forced Corrigan to the front door, and stood on the threshold behind him, silent, watching. A hundred doorways were vomiting men. The crash of glass had carried far, and visions of a bank robbery filled many brains as their owners raced toward the doorway where Trevison stood, the muzzle of his pistol jammed firmly against Corrigan's back.
Except for a noticeable thinness of the face, and a certain drawn expression of the eyes, he was the same Trevison who had spoken so frankly to her one day out on the plains when he had taken her into his confidence. In the look that he gave her now was the same frankness, clouded a little, she thought, by some emotion which she could not fathom.
Rosalind presided at the Bar B ranchhouse, under Agatha's chaperonage, and she had invited Trevison to visit her whenever the mood struck him. He had been in the mood many times, but had found no opportunity, for the various activities of range work claimed his attention.
What I can't understand is why Judge Lindman issued the writ at all if he did so. You are the defendant, and you certainly would have brought the deed into court as a means of proving your case." Trevison had mentioned the missing money, though he did not think it important to explain where it had come from. And Judge Graney did not ask him.
"We was thinkin' that mebbe he'd know where 'Firebrand' is. 'Firebrand' is sort of lost, I reckon." The door flew open and Mrs. Levins, like a pale ghost, appeared in the opening. "Trevison and Clay left here tonight. I didn't look to see what time. Oh, I hope nothing has happened to them!"
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.
Half an hour later the entire outfit twenty men besides Barkwell and Weaver left the ranchhouse and spread, fan-wise, over the plains west of Manti. They lost all sense of time. Several of them had ridden to Manti, making a round of the places that were still open, but had returned, with no word of Trevison. Corrigan had claimed to have seen him.
Trevison narrowed his eyes at the big man and laughed, bitter humor in the sound. It was as though he had laughed to keep his rage from leaping, naked and murderous, into this discussion. "It takes nerve, Corrigan, to do what you are attempting; it does, by Heaven sheer, brazen gall!
At last, lashing viciously, wriggling, squirming, swinging around in a wide circle to get out of Corrigan's clutches, Trevison broke the clinch and stood off, breathing heavily, summoning his reserve strength for a finishing blow.
If ye've got half the sinse I give ye credit for havin', ye'll be lettin' that mon Trevison alone I'd a lot sooner smoke a segar in that shed av dynamite than to cross him!" Corrigan smiled and turned to look in the direction in which the Irishman was pointing. A small, flat-roofed frame building, sheathed with corrugated iron, met his view.
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