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Updated: June 8, 2025
Brit's voice was very weak, but Lorraine jumped as though a trumpet had bellowed suddenly in her ear. "Swan he's all right. But don't go telling all yuh know and some besides. He ain't Sawtooth, but he might let out " "I know. I won't, dad. It was that horse " Brit turned his face to the wall as if no more was to be said on the subject.
Lorraine parried awkwardly. "I don't " "Did they git Frank, las' night?" Brit's eyes seemed to bore into her soul, searching pitilessly for the truth. "Don't lie to me, Raine it ain't going to help any. Was it Frank or Lone? They's a dead man laid out on this ranch. Who is it?" "F-frank," Lorraine stammered, backing away from him. "H-how did you know?" "How did it happen?"
He must be coming," she said. "Where's Lone at?" Brit moved restlessly on the pillow and twisted his face at the pain. "Lone isn't back, either." "He ain't? Where'd he go?" Lorraine came to the bedside and, lifting Brit's head carefully, arranged the pillow as she knew he liked it. "I don't know where he went," she said dully. "He rode off just after dinner. Do you want your supper now?
In this Frank Johnson, old-time friend and neighbour, who had taken all the land the government would allow one man to hold, and whose lines joined Brit's, profanely upheld him. They had planned to run cattle together, had their brand already recorded, and had scraped together enough money to buy a dozen young cows.
I expect you to protect our interests, of course. And I have never made a practice of dictating to you. In this case" he sent a sharp glance at Al "it seems to me your interests are involved more than ours. As to Fred Thurman, I don't know anything about it. I was not here when he died, and I have never seen this girl of Brit's who seems to worry you.
As safe," he added meaningly, "as dragging Fred Thurman, or unhooking Brit's chain-lock before he started down the canyon with his load of posts." Swan did not answer, but turned back to where the horse had been left tied and took up the trail from there. As before, the dog trotted along, Lone riding close behind him and Swan striding after.
The peevish impatience of an invalid whose horizon has narrowed to his own personal welfare and wants was in Brit's voice. Two weeks he had been sick, and his temper had not sweetened with the pain of his broken bones and the enforced idleness. Brit was the type of man who is never quiet unless he is asleep or too ill to get out of bed. Lorraine came to the doorway and looked in at him.
I expect you to protect our interests, of course. And I have never made a practice of dictating to you. In this case" he sent a sharp glance at Al "it seems to me your interests are involved more than ours. As to Fred Thurman, I don't know anything about it. I was not here when he died, and I have never seen this girl of Brit's who seems to worry you.
Lorraine laughed uncertainly. "I'd kill! if that would help dad." Swan was folding his coat very carefully and placing it under Brit's head. "My mother I love like that," he said, without looking up. "My mother I love so well that I talk with my thoughts to her sometimes. You believe people can talk with their thoughts?" "I don't know what's that got to do with helping dad?"
Lorraine stooped over him, and her eyes were almost as terrible as were Brit's. "Let it pop. We aren't quitters, are we, dad? I'm going to stay with you." Then she saw tears spilling over Brit's eyelids and left the room hurriedly, fighting back a storm of weeping. She herself could not mourn for Frank with any sense of great personal loss, but it was different with her dad.
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