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Updated: June 15, 2025
Sam Webber's sheep ranch was situated in the loneliest part of the country between the Nueces and the Frio. The ranch house a two-room box structure was on the rise of a gently swelling hill in the midst of a wilderness of high chaparral. In front of it was a small clearing where stood the sheep pens, shearing shed, and wool house. Only a few feet back of it began the thorny jungle.
Well, he made a pile out of a trust, some dentist-tools combine, I think." "I am glad of it," Sommers said heartily, "and I hope he'll keep it." "Are you going to stay in Chicago?" Miss M'Gann asked, with renewed curiosity. "We shall be glad to see you at the Keystone." Sommers got up to leave, and asked for Webber's address in the city. "I may look him up," he explained.
"What day is to-day?" "Friday," replied the teamster. "All right. Then we'll say on Sunday we celebrate with church in Webber's blacksmith shop," agreed old Jim, secretly delighted beyond expression. "We won't git gay with anything too high-falootin', but we'd ought to git Shorty Hobb to show up with his fiddle." "Certain!" assented the barkeep. "You kin leave that part of the game to me."
That's all right. Webber's at the end of his tether. There's nothing he can do to stop us. He's trying to attack with force, and he fails to realize that time and thought are on our side. The time when force would have succeeded against us is long past. But now there are many of us, almost as many as not." Harry stared shrewdly at the man behind the desk.
Webber's face he had seen, a face no one could forget, an unmistakable face. And that meant that it had been Dr. Webber who had been persecuting him. But why? He had been going to report to Webber when he had run into that golden field in the rooming-house hallway. And suddenly things had changed. Harry felt a chill reaching to his fingers and toes. Yes, something had changed, all right.
He had two visits to make that he had neglected for Webber's case, but he would wait until the evening and take Alves with him. He had not seen her for hours. For the first time in months he indulged himself in a few petty extravagances as he crossed the city to get his train. The day had excited him, had destroyed the calm of his usual controlled, plodding habits.
"Old Webber's got a bully fire, and iron melting hot, to warm the shop. The tree looks great. She's all lit up, and the doors all shut to make it dark, and you bet she's a gem a gorgeous gem ain't she, fellers?" The others agreed that it was.
Now, if he only leads the dash as he does the debate, we can pick him off. Who are our best shots on this front?" and eagerly he scanned the few faces near him. "Webber's tiptop and good for anything under five hundred yards when he isn't excited, and Stoltz, he's a keen, cool one.
Sommers watched the man closely, trying to determine how far the disease had gone. Webber's vain, rather weak face was disguised with a beard, which made him look older than he was, and the arm that rested on the table trembled nervously from the flaccid fingers to the shoulder-blades. "They've put up some trick between them," Webber continued, in a grumbling tone.
Debt, distress, sickness, and the heart-burnings of altered fortunes filled it; and when I closed it, I felt like one over all whose views in life a dark and ill-omened cloud was closing forever. Webber's I could not read; the light and cheerful raillery of a friend would have seemed, at such a time, like the cold, unfeeling sarcasm of an enemy.
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