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Updated: June 17, 2025
He and Wickwire couldn't find anybody home when they got to the ranch-house and they rode down the corral together to look over the horses." Whispering Smith's hand fell helplessly on the table. "Rode down together! For God's sake, why didn't one of them stay at the house?" "Sinclair rode out from behind the barn and hit Wickwire in the arm before they saw him.
At noon the next day Scott rode through the hills from the Fence, and Kennedy with Wickwire came through Two Feather Pass from the Frenchman with the report that the game had left their valleys. Without rest they pushed on. At the foot of the Mission Mountains they picked up the tracks of a party of three horsemen. Twice within ten miles afterward the men they were following crossed the river.
High on the left bank itself, worming his way like a snake from point to point of concealment through the scanty brush of the mountainside, crawled Wickwire, commanding the pockets in the right bank. Closer to the river on the right and following the trail itself over shale and rock and between scattered bowlders, Whispering Smith, low on his horse's neck, rode slowly.
"You ought to remember Wickwire, George," remarked Whispering Smith, turning to McCloud. "You haven't forgotten the Smoky Creek wreck? Do you remember the tramp who had his legs crushed and lay in the sun all morning? You put him in your car and sent him down here to the railroad hospital and Barnhardt took care of him. That was Wickwire.
But now that we really do know each other, please remember you are always sure of a home at the ranch whenever you want one, Mr. Wickwire, and just as long as you want one. We never forget our friends on the Crawling Stone." "If I may make so bold, I thank you kindly. And if you all will let me run away now, I want to catch Mr. Whispering Smith for just one minute."
He went away for a long time, and we heard he was in the Black Hills. When he came back, my God! what a hero he was." Bob Scott knocked at the door and Whispering Smith opened it. "Tired of waiting, Bob? Well, I guess I'm ready. Is the moon up? This is the rifle I'm going to take, Bob. Did Wickwire have a talk with you? He's all right.
Silence fell upon the gloom of the dusk. Then came a calling between Smith and Wickwire, and a signalling of pistol-shots for their companions. Kennedy and Bob Scott dashed down toward the river-bed on their horses. Seagrue lay on his face. Young Rebstock sat with his hands around his knees on the sand.
Smith alone, of their pursuers, could now intercept them, but a second hope remained: on the left, Wickwire was high enough to command every turn in the bed of the river. He might see them and could force them to cover with his rifle even at long range.
"You are worried over something," she murmured; "I can see it in your face." "Nothing more than usual. I thrive, you know, on trouble and I'm sorry to say good-night so early, but I have a long ride ahead." He stepped quietly past McCloud and out of the door. Wickwire was thanking Dicksie when unwillingly she let Whispering Smith's hand slip out of her own.
"Anyway, we were there in time to see the horse." "And Sinclair was away from the ranch from Saturday noon till Sunday night?" "A rancher living over on Stampede Creek saw the five men when they crossed Saturday afternoon. The fellow was scared and lied to me about it, but he told Wickwire who they were." "Now, who is Wickwire?" asked Bucks.
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