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Updated: June 2, 2025
Boyd was backed against a tree while the two others advanced on him from different directions. "That's enough!" Drew's Colt was pointed at Hilders. The man's head jerked around. "Get goin'," the scout ordered.
The pigs in question were two tall, lank animals, supposed to belong to Bertie Shakespeare Drew's father, which had been haunting the roadside by the manse for a couple of weeks. Walter did not want to ride a pig through Glen St. Mary, but whatever Faith Meredith dared him to do must be done.
"Makes like a horny one on the prod," commented the Texan. "That's stud's a lotta hoss to handle, amigo." "Too much," the captain echoed Drew's earlier misgivings. "Keep him away from the rest until you're sure he won't start anything!" But that order fitted in with Drew's usual scouting duties.
Then he and Drew tended the slight wounds of their enemies. "You'll both do until you can get to town," Drew told them. "And you've a road and plenty of daylight to help you foot it...." To Drew's surprise, the sergeant suddenly laughed. "This ain't going to sit well with the captain. He swore all you Rebs were run out of here a couple of weeks ago." "You can assure him he's wrong."
"You're going to stop him?" "I'm going to make him want to stop it himself," Tom rejoined, with a slight grin. Alf came back, looking much pleased. "Let me feel your pulse," requested Reade. "Now, let me see your tongue." This much accomplished, Tom next turned down the under lid of one of young Drew's eyes and gazed at the lack of red there displayed.
"Good-bye, Allen," responded Tyke, with a suspicious moisture in his eyes. "I'll be rooting for you an' thinking of you all the time. Good-bye an' good luck." At daybreak the next morning Drew stepped on board the Bertha Hamilton and the most thrilling experience of his life had begun. Naturally Drew's first thought as he glanced about the vessel, was of Ruth.
There were yells ... shots.... But Drew's attention was on keeping Kirby in the saddle. Hannibal hit a brush wall and tore through it. Branches whipped back at them with force enough to throw riders. Kirby was swept off, gone before Drew could catch him. Then Hannibal gave a wild bray of pain and terror. He reared and Drew lost grasp of the bay's reins.
For the second time Shawnee cried, but this time it was no warrior's protest against death; it was the nicker of a question. The answering shot from Drew's Colt was lost in the battle din. He was upon the other horse before Shawnee had stopped breathing. "Come on!" Drew's voice was strident as he spurred, herding Boyd before him.
While the chums were chatting, Alf Drew's forlorn figure showed at the doorway of the tent. "Say, boss," complained Alf, "I haven't any place to sleep." "What?" Reade demanded in pretended surprise, "with nearly all the ground in Nevada at your disposal?" "But that isn't a bed," contended Alf. "Right you are there, lad" agreed Tom.
At the sight of the two men he smirked, forgivingly patted Babbitt on the shoulder, and knelt beside him, his arm about him, while he authorized Dr. Drew's imprecations with moans of "Yes, Lord! Help our brother, Lord!"
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