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Updated: June 4, 2025
Chad Harrison waits long enough he's liable to find himself in trouble when he tackles that young tiger cub," answered the comedian. "Ever see anybody quicker on his feet? Reminds me of Jim Corbett when he was a youngster." The news of the boxing lessons traveled to Harrison. He set his heavy jaw and waited. He intended that Yeager should go to the hospital after their next mix-up.
My stint was over for a few hours at least and I enjoyed the luxury of pitying poor Mott, who was shut up in a stuffy cabin with our prisoner. Yeager, too, was off duty. We could hear him pounding away at the piano in the saloon. Ragtime floated to us, and presently a snatch from "The Sultan of Sulu."
It happened to be seventeen. The croupier spun the wheel again. The ball whirled round, dipped down once or twice, and plumped into the compartment numbered seventeen. "Enough's a-plenty. Here's where I cash in," announced Steve cheerfully. He stuffed the bills carelessly into his pocket and strolled over to the faro table. Yeager had come on business, not for pleasure.
Half dragging him with me, I got Yeager into the shadow. "Got a revolver?" I whispered. "Yes." He felt for it in the darkness. "Damn! I must 'a dropped it when Bothwell hit me over the coconut." "Are you good for a run to the saloon? He'll pick us off just as soon as the moon comes out from behind that cloud." A bullet took a splinter from the rail beside me.
And whatever I say, don't give me away." Yeager nodded. He had manoeuvred the wounded arm through the coat sleeve and was straightening out the shoulders. The nester's eyes were shining with excitement. Alone of the three, he was enjoying himself. "Remember now. Don't talk too much.
Nevertheless, he was worried in his mind. For what Yeager had told him changed wholly the problem before him. It suggested a possibility, even a probability, very distasteful to him. He was in trouble himself, and before he was through he expected to get others into deep water, too. But not Phyllis Sanderson surely not this impulsive girl with the blue-black hair and dark, scornful eyes.
I'd hate to find out too late I'd helped hang the wrong man," Yeager dryly answered. Having come to an understanding, Yeager and Keller wasted no time or temper in acrimony. Both of them belonged to that big outdoors West which plays the game to the limit without littleness.
Yeager looked from one to the other, not quite catching the drift of the underlying meaning. Another thing puzzled him, too. But, like most men of the unfenced Southwest, Yeager had a large capacity for silence. Now he attended strictly to his business, without mentioning what he had noticed. The wound dressed, Phyllis rose to leave.
Incuriously his eyes watched the party as it moved toward the headquarters of Pasquale. Some impulse led him to put his scarecrow of a pony at a canter. The party reached the house of Pasquale and the two leaders dismounted. Yeager was still at some distance, but he had an uncertain impression that one of them was a woman. They stood on the porch talking.
"What was that you called me, Baldy?" he asked. "What kind of a concert was it?" "A 'consort," corrected Baldy "a 'prince-consort. It's a kind of short-card pseudonym. You come in sort of between Jack-high and a four-card flush." Webb Yeager sighed, and gathered the strap of his Winchester scabbard from the floor. "I'm ridin' back to the ranch to-day," he said half-heartedly.
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