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Flandrau made a movement to rise and they jerked him to his feet. "You've played hell," one of the men told the boy. He was a sawed-off little fellow known as Dutch. Flandrau had seen him in the Map of Texas country try a year or two before. The rest were strangers to the boy. All of them looked at him out of hard hostile eyes.
That's sure great, old hoss. Well, see you later, Slats." Flandrau followed Mac, dissatisfied with himself for leaving his friend so cavalierly. In the old days they had told each other everything, had talked things out together before many a campfire. He guessed Slats would be hurt, but he had to think of his partners in this enterprise.
"You're looking for him, are you?" she said. "Thought while I was here I'd look him up. I know his folks a little." "Do you know him?" He shook his head. She looked at him very steadily before she spoke. "You haven't met him yet but you want to. Is that it?" "That's it." "Will you have another egg?" Flandrau laughed. "No, thanks. Staying up at Stone's, is he?"
It might have been the explosion of a giant firecracker, but Flandrau knew it was nothing so harmless. He leaped to his feet, and at the same instant Mac came running over the brow of the hill. A smoking revolver was in his hand. From behind the hill a gun cracked then a second and a third. Mac stumbled over his feet and pitched forward full length on the ground.
There was more than one anxious heart at the Circle C waiting for the verdict of the bowlegged baldheaded little man with the satchel, but not one of them no, not even Kate Cullison herself was in a colder fear than Curly Flandrau. He was entitled to a deep interest, for if Cullison should die he knew that he would follow him within a few hours.
Young Flandrau was in the office of the sheriff a good deal, because he wanted to be kept informed of any new developments in the W. & S. robbery case. It was on one of those occasions that Bolt tossed across to him a letter he had just opened. "I've been getting letters from the village cut-up or from some crank, I don't know which. Here's a sample."
Kate was tortured with anxiety, but the surpassing beauty that encompassed them was somehow a comfort to her. Deep within her something denied that her father could be gone out of a world so good. And if he were alive, Curly Flandrau would find him Curly and Dick between them. Luck Cullison had plenty of good friends who would not stand by and see him wronged.
There's ten times as much against your friend as there is against Cass." "Then you'll not arrest Fendrick?" "When you give me good reason to do it," Bolt returned doggedly. "That's all right, Mr. Sheriff. Now we know where you stand," Flandrau, Senior, said stiffly. The harassed official mopped his face with a bandanna. "Sho! You all make me tired.
Sam was obviously nervous, but eager to cover his uneasiness under a show of good spirits. Curly finished eating just as Sam's second cup of coffee came. Flandrau, who had purposely chosen a seat in the corner where he was hemmed in by the chairs of the others, began to feel in his vest pockets. "Darned if I've got a cigar. Sam, you're young and nimble. Go buy me one at the counter." "Sure."
So now young Flandrau ate his dinner with a hearty appetite, smoked cigarettes impassively, and occasionally chatted with his guards casually and as a matter of course. Deep within him was a terrible feeling of sickness at the disaster that had overwhelmed him, but he did not intend to play the quitter. Dutch and an old fellow named Sweeney relieved the other watchers about noon.
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