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Updated: May 2, 2025
'Westerfelt may fly around the whole caboodle of 'em, but when Liz gits 'er head set she cuts a wide swathe an' never strikes a snag ur stump, an' cleans out the fence-corners as smooth as a parlor floor." Sally bent down over her uncle; her face was slowly hardening into conviction. When she spoke her voice had lost its ring of defiance and got its strength of utterance only from sheer despair.
Washburn led a horse through the crowd and gave the bridle to Westerfelt. He hesitated, as if about to speak, and then silently withdrew. Westerfelt mounted. The leader gave the order, and the gang moved back towards the mountain. Two horsemen went before Westerfelt and two fell behind.
"That's a fact," said Washburn, coming from the stable, "but I'll bet you'll have to wait a few minutes, anyway." He was looking back in the direction from whence Westerfelt had come. "I saw Miss Harriet come out o' the hotel jest after you passed; it looks to me like she's trying to overtake you." Westerfelt turned and saw Harriet about a hundred yards away. "Maybe she is," he said.
When women once git married they come down to hard-pan like a kickin' mule when it gits broke to traces." Westerfelt drew the blankets closer about him. The road had taken a sharp turn round the side of a little hill, and the breeze from the wide reach of level valley lands was keen and piercing. Bradley's volubility jarred on him.
"I see," he answered, with a steady stare of condemnation; "you want to keep him from committing another crime a more serious one." She looked at him an instant as if puzzled, and then said: "I want to keep him from killing you." "Do you think he would take advantage of a helpless man?" "I know it, Mr. Westerfelt; oh, I know he would!"
Alf, a colored farm-hand, was heaping logs on the old-fashioned dog-irons in the wide fireplace, and a mass of fat pine burning under the wood lighted the room with a soft red glow. Westerfelt looked round him in surprise. While they were at supper the carpet had been taken up, the floor swept clean, and a number of chairs placed against the wall round the room.
"I don't want to be all day goin' an' comin'. I'll be blamed ef I ain't afeerd them two ol' cats 'll be a-fightin' an' scratchin' 'fore I get back. They had a time of it while the gal was alive, an' I reckon thar 'll be no peace at all now." "Does Mrs. Dawson blame anybody or or ?" Westerfelt paused as if he hardly knew how to finish.
He walked with a shambling gait, stooped considerably, and swung his arms. He seldom wore a coat, and on days as mild as this his shirt-sleeves were always rolled up. He presented a striking contrast to John Westerfelt, who, by the people of that remote section, might have been considered something of a swell. "How are you, ol' hoss?"
Westerfelt is a nice man and a good enough catch, but he's got plenty of faults. You've just got to listen to reason. Some men will despise a girl quicker for letting themselves be run over than anything else, and he's one of that sort.
Then, before Toot could shield himself, Westerfelt struck him with the force of a battering-ram squarely in the mouth. Wambush whined in pain, spat blood from gashed lips, and shook his head like a lion wounded in the mouth. He ran backward a few feet to recover himself, and then, with a mad cry, rushed at Westerfelt and caught him by the throat.
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