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Updated: May 12, 2025
If they was a few more pilgrims like him that would get about half the rest of you, maybe the others would turn decent, or take to the brush." The Texan laughed. "Anyway Purdy's dead, an' they've got the pilgrim locked up, an' the girl's held fer a witness, an' I told Sam Moore I'd take a shot at him if he locked her up wherever he's goin' to lock up the pilgrim in the wool-warehouse I reckon.
"Well," answered the Texan, as his lips twisted into their peculiar smile; "we might get the right bunch together an' go down to the wool-warehouse an' save the grand jury the trouble." The other stared at him in amazement: "You mean bust him out?" Tex laughed: "Sure. Lord! Won't it be fun seein' Sam Moore puttin' up a scrap to save his prisoner?" "But, how'd we git away with him?
But, from the first minute I laid eyes on that girl, I wanted her. I'm bad enough, but not like Purdy. I figured if she'd go half-way, I'd go the other half. So I planned the raid on the wool-warehouse, an' the fake lynchin', purpose to get her out of town. I didn't care a damn about you you was just an excuse to get her away. I figured on losing you after we hit the mountains.
A group of saddle-horses stood before the Headquarters saloon, and as the Texan entered he was vociferously greeted by the twenty cowboys who crowded the bar. "Come on, Tex, drink up!" "Hell'll be a-poppin' down to the wool-warehouse." "An', time we get there we won't be able to see Sam Moore fer dust."
How can hands stained with the ink of a counting-house, soiled with the grease of a wool-warehouse, ever again be permitted to come into contact with aristocratic palms?" "There would be a difficulty, no doubt; still you are such a complete Seacombe in appearance, feature, language, almost manner, I wonder they should disown you." "They have disowned me; so talk no more about it."
For the third time that evening he entered the dance-hall and avoiding the dancers made his way leisurely toward the bar that ran along one side of the room. "Hello, Tex, ain't dancin'? Say, they're tellin' how a pilgrim killed Jack Purdy. Yes, an' they got him locked up down in the wool-warehouse. What's yourn?" The cowboy ranged himself beside the Texan. "A little red liquor, I reckon."
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