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Updated: June 28, 2025
"He'll stay out of sight and within call," explained the Texan. "We may need him worse than we do now. Anyway, Garvey will have plenty trouble gettin' that express money." They prepared to fight it out until the last, for already the Indians were forcing their ponies down into the arroyo. A triumphant shout went up a shout that became an elated, bloodthirsty war cry.
"Sure!" says Garvey, swingin' back a Japanese screen and disclosin' a full trap outfit base drum with cymbals, worked by a foot pedal, xylophone blocks, triangle, and sand boards all rigged up next to a cabinet music machine. "Well, well!" says I. "All you lack is a leader and Sophie Tucker to screech and you could go on at Reisenwebers."
Garvey," he said at length, cautiously. "Ah! then, as I thought, you have had a great deal to put up with from him," Garvey said, with his eyes fixed on his companion's face. "And, no doubt, he is still as bitter against me as he was years ago when the disease first showed itself?"
The young newcomer's bullet had struck the butt of the holstered gun and smashed it to bits. Garvey stared at the handleless gun as if stupefied. Then his amazed glance fell upon the stranger, who was smiling easily through the flickering powder fumes. "Who who are yuh?" he stammered. The stranger smiled. "Kid Wolf," he drawled, "from Texas, sah.
"He ain't got anything on J. Kearney Rockwell, the potty-built old sport with the pink complexion and the grand duchess wife," I goes on. "You know?" Garvey nods. "Of Rockwell, Griggs & Bland, the big brokerage house," says he. "What's his pet side line?" "Cucumbers," says I. "Has a whole hothouse full of 'em. Don't allow the gardener to step inside the door, but does it all himself.
The inscription, the blue envelope, the red elastic band, and even a blot in the lower left-hand corner had been exactly reproduced. Inside, of course, were only sheets of blank paper. It was his intention to change the packets and to let Garvey see him put the sham one into the bag. In case of violence the bag would be the point of attack, and he intended to lock it and throw away the key.
'Take the money, then, says she, 'and buy it fa'r and squar'." "Out with it," said Goree, his racked nerves growing impatient. Garvey threw his slouch hat upon the table, and leaned forward, fixing his unblinking eyes upon Goree's. "There's a old feud," he said distinctly and slowly, "'tween you 'uns and the Coltranes." Goree frowned ominously.
There was but one public building in the place a large building of plastered earth which was at the same time a saloon, a store, a gambling hall, and a meeting place for those who cared to partake of its hospitality. The crude sign over the narrow door read: "Garvey's Place." It was enough. Garvey was the storekeeper, the master of the gamblers, and the saloon owner.
Kid Wolf felt the comforting weight of his hidden knife at the back of his neck. It would do him little good, however, to draw it, for he was hemmed in by the Apaches. He might get two or three, but in the end he would be beaten down. He was determined, at any rate, to go out fighting. If he could only bring justice to Garvey before he died, he would be content.
Her glance turned to Freddie's face and she looked into his eyes amid a profound silence. She saw in those eyes only intense anxiety and intense affection. He said: "What is it, dear? You are all right. Only a fainting spell." "Was that true?" she asked. "Yes, but he'll pull through. The surgeons save everybody nowadays. I've cabled his secretary, Garvey, and to my lawyers.
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