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"I'm going back with you." Al's voice was firm. "I'm going to take the same train back. It's about time for that carriage, I guess." "I haven't told you all my plans," George tried to go on, but Al cut him off. "You might as well quit that. I don't want any of your soapy talking. You treat me like a child. I'm not a child. My mind's made up, and I'll show you how long it can stay made up.
"You bet I want to see Warfield," Swan assented rather eagerly and called Jack, who had nosed around the spot where Al had waited so long and was now trotting along the ridge on the next lap of Al's journey. They reached the gate in time to meet Warfield and Hawkins face to face. Hawkins gave Lone a quick, questioning look and nodded carelessly to Swan.
He followed George's eyes as the latter looked him up and down. "A hell of a brother YOU are," was George's comment when he had finished the inspection. Moisture welled into Al's eyes. "It's my stomach," he said with self-pity. "I don't wonder," was the retort. "Burnt out like the crater of a volcano. Fervent heat isn't a circumstance." Thereafter they did not speak.
Already the dusk was painting deep shadows in the woods across the opening, and turning the sky a darker blue. Skinner rolled over twice, got up and shook himself with a satisfied snort and went away to feed. She might, if she were patient, run to the horse when Al's back was turned, she thought.
Then, coming back, he very matter-of-factly untied Lorraine and helped her off the horse. Lorraine was all prepared to fight, but she did not quite know how to struggle with a man who did not take hold of her or touch her, except to steady her in dismounting. Unconsciously she waited for a cue, and the cue was not given. Al's mind seemed intent upon making Skinner comfortable.
"Coyotes are foolish, alongside him, and you'll find it out. I'll bet he's been watching this place since daybreak." "Where he goes, Yack will follow," Swan grinned cheerfully. "And I follow Yack. We'll get him, Lone. That dog, he never quits till I say quit." "You better go down and get a horse, then," Lone advised. "They're all gentle. Al's mounted, remember.
I coulda loved this little girl. I could " He was down, bleeding and coughing and trying to talk. Swan had shot him, and two of the deputies who had been there through half of Al's bitter talk. Lorraine, unable to get up and run, too sturdy of soul to faint, had rolled over and away from him, her lips held tightly together, her eyes wide with horror. Al crawled after her, his eyes pleading.
"Crimus," he whispered to Laban, as the latter passed him on the way to where Jessamine, the Snow horse, was tied, "the old man takes it cool, don't he! I kind of imagined he'd be sort of shook up by Al's goin' off to war, but he don't seem to feel it a mite." Keeler looked at him in wonder. Then he drew a long breath.
"Can't you see how tired he is?" Al glanced at her from under his eyebrows. "He's all in, but he's got to make it," he said. "I've been that way myself and made it. What I can do, a horse can do. Come on, you yella-livered bonehead!" Snake went on, urged now and then by Al's quirt.
And she was still in bed trying to pluck up her courage when, with a knock on the door and a cheerful greeting, Florence entered, carrying steaming hot water. "Good mawnin', Miss Hammond. Hope you slept well. You sure were tired last night. I imagine you'll find this old rancho house as cold as a barn. It'll warm up directly. Al's gone with the boys and Bill.
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