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Updated: May 14, 2025
A quick movement of the head served to defeat Yuma's aim and his fist thumped heavily against the floor, bringing a grimace of pain to his face. Disregarding his injured wrist, Hollis wrenched savagely and succeeded in rolling free of Yuma and reaching his feet. He had moved quickly, but the lithe, cat-like half-breed was before him, bounding toward the pistol on the floor.
In spite of Hollis's remonstrances the girl insisted on returning to the interior of the cabin, to "bundle up her things." Feeling the futility of further objection, Hollis finally allowed her to enter. But while she was busy in one of the rooms he and Ten Spot carried Yuma's body outside, around to the rear of the cabin.
He rode into the cañon, half conscious of Yuma's tracks ahead of him. He rode past the tracks as they swerved toward a grassy level near the stream. "Collie!" Louise stood beside the sweating Yuma, patting the pony's neck. Collie raised his sombrero formally. Louise was bareheaded. The clear morning sunlight enhanced her rich coloring.
Yuma stood near the table in the center of the kitchen, looking straight at her, his insolent, evil face drawn into a foreboding smile. After the first gasp of horror and surprise a righteous anger stiffened her. "What are you doing here?" she demanded. Yuma's evil smile grew.
The crash of Ten Spot's pistols aroused Nellie Hazelton, and she sat up and stared stupidly about at Hollis, who was just rising from the floor; at Ten Spot, who still stood in the doorway; and then at Yuma's body, stretched out on the floor beside the overturned table. She shuddered and covered her face with her hands.
She struggled desperately, squirming and twisting in his grasp, silently matching her strength against his. Finding this hopeless and feeling his hand gradually slipping toward the revolver, she suddenly raised her hand toward her face, bringing Yuma's hand, still on her arm, with it. Then she dropped her head to his arm near the wrist, and sank her teeth savagely into the flesh.
Curiously enough, next to the horror and doubt that she felt over Yuma's presence at the cabin was a wonder for the idioms of cowboy speech that were interjected with his own. He had caught them from association, she supposed. She made a pretense of boldness, though she felt more like screaming. "Leave this cabin!" she commanded sharply. Yuma did not change his position. "Leave heem?" he laughed.
"Some of Ed Hazelton's cattle are in the basin on the other side of that ridge," he said. "You go over there and keep an eye on them until I can get a chance to send some one here to help you drive them back up the river toward the Circle Bar." As he came to the edge of the porch to mount his pony his gaze fell on Yuma's horse, still hitched to one of the columns.
"What are we going to do with Yuma's horse?" he questioned. Ten Spot grinned. He walked over to the pony, unhitched it, and with a vicious slap on the flank sent it loping down the trail toward the river. "That'll be my message to Dunlavey that Yuma ain't here any more," he said grimly.
But Overland was in the road, hat in hand, and Yuma's bridle-reins over one arm. "'Mornin', Billy! 'Mornin', Doctor! You run right up to the house. I left the gate open." Then Overland rode back, following them. Later he reappeared, minus spurs and chaps, but still clad in the garb of the range-rider. He was as proud and happy as a boy. He seemed to have dropped ten years from his shoulders.
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