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Updated: June 28, 2025
"Goodness me, Janice! what do you think of that? There is a lot more of it, too." "Then if Juan Dicampa is not dead " began the girl. "Sure, Uncle Brocky ain't dead!" finished Marty. "At least, dear girl," said Nelson, sympathetically, "there is every reason to believe that what Marty says is true." "Oh, I can hope! I can hope again!" she murmured.
Brocky Lane was near his death and the sheriff knew it after that one look; his life lay, perhaps, in the hands of this girl. Norton had brought her when he might have brought Patten. Had he chosen wrongly? He had noted her hands before; now they seemed to him the most wonderful hands ever possessed by either man or woman, strong, sure, quick, sensitive, utterly capable.
"Along the arroyo just off to the east of Mt. Temple. About a mile from the mountain . . . you know where the biggest boulders are all strung out along the arroyo? It's there. Brocky and a lot of cowboys are making a stand there, heading off the Kid and del Rio. So they can't get with the others, you know. . . . Why didn't somebody tell me about this?" he broke off, his voice shrill.
Behind them San Juan drawn into the shadows of night but calling to them in mellow-toned cadences of sorrow, before them the sombre canons and iron flanks of Mt. Temple, and somewhere, still several hours away, Brocky Lane lying helpless and perhaps hopeless; grim by day the earth hereabouts was inscrutable by night, a mighty, primal sphinx, lip-locked, spirit-crushing.
An' Ah nebber would o' lef' you, only ma crippled brudder, Esek, an' his crippled wife done need me to tak' care ob dem. "But Esek's daid. An' here Ah is back, chile Ma soul an' body! ef dar ain' Mistah Brocky Day on crutches!" "Blanche! Mammy Blanche!" exclaimed the man with real warmth, as well as wonder, in his tone. "Is it really you?"
Loving a good horse as he did, he felt a sudden and utterly new sort of hatred of Blenham go rushing along his blood. It was with a deep sigh of relief that he straightened up when he saw that either chance or a remarkable skill with a rifle had saved Brocky Lane's roan from any protracted pain.
Brocky tried to stampede the herds, but the others are more than two to one, so he got his men in the arroyo and they're giving 'em hell from there." "Galloway's on the other side?" "No. Brocky said tell you Galloway hadn't shown up yet. We think he didn't expect things to get started so soon.
And, if all worked according to schedule, the papers across the country would record the most daring raid across the border yet, blaming the whole affair on a detachment of Gringo-hating Mexican bandits and revolutionists." Virginia stared at him, half incredulously. But the look in Norton's eyes, the same look in Brocky Lane's, assured her. "Why do you wait then?" she asked sharply.
I seen a pattern in the fashion sheet of the Fireside Love Letter that was re'l sweet." "What's eatin' on you, Maw?" demanded her son gruffly. "Whatcher wanter talk that way for right in front of Janice? I reckon we won't none of us put on crêpe for Uncle Brocky yet awhile," he added, stoutly. On Monday arrived another letter from Mr. Broxton Day.
Here were groups of slatternly, unkempt women, some of whom stared at him with brazen faces, while others slunk away, not quite lost to shame. At last they came to a rickety stair-way, and as they neared the top, Bull-dog whispered: "There's some of 'em now; that tall feller is Faro Dick, he deals down stairs, and the little, black feller is Slicky, and that short, fat one, that's Brocky Joe."
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