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Updated: June 8, 2025
He was closing with the rig and could see Wandle savagely lash his team; the trouble was that instead of riding to cut off the fugitive, in another few minutes he would be behind him, which was a very different thing. While he plied the quirt he saw the rig vanish among the trees close ahead.
Lorraine wandered around the cabin, which was no larger than her father's place. The rooms were scrupulously clean neater than the Quirt, she observed guiltily. Not one article, however small and unimportant, seemed to be out of its place, and the floors of both rooms were scrubbed whiter than any floors she had ever seen.
Swan had not told him of anything but the runaway, and of helping to carry Brit home and of the "damn funny thing about the chain" the rough-lock, he must have meant. Too well Lone understood the sinister meaning that probably lay behind that phrase. "They've started on the Quirt now," he told himself with foreboding. "She's been telling her father " Lone fell into bitter argument with himself.
It is worthy of passing remark that I never had a horse pitch with me so much as that mustang, but I never stopped sticking my spurs in him and using my quirt on his flanks until I proved his master. Right there the assembled crowd named me Deadwood Dick and proclaimed me champion roper of the western cattle country.
The Sawtooth, under the management of a greatly chastened young Bob Warfield, was slowly winning its way back to the respect of its neighbours. For certain personal reasons there was no real neighbourliness between the Quirt and the Sawtooth. There could not be, so long as Brit's memory remained clear, and Bob was every day reminded of the crimes his father had paid a man to commit.
Evidently the jostling of his sorrel forbade. He turned his head to the front again, and, slumping low in his saddle, began frantic use of spur and quirt. But the sorrel had lost his stride, and before he could regain it Jim and Johnson had dashed alongside. Jim swung close and looked at Glover. Glover returned the gaze, and again appeared about to speak.
But she was around before I'd hardly begun. Oh, yes. She acted her show piece, and if you'd seen it I guess she'd have got your applause good. It was against me. She jumped in front of that red-skinned swine so my quirt nearly came down on her. But it didn't. And I'm glad. Guess she's too soft, and pretty, and dandy to hurt yet.
Collie saw him stop and turn into the Old Meadow Trail. He watched for Saunders to appear on the road below the ranch. Presently out from the shoulder of a hill leaped Rally. Saunders was plying quirt and spur. The pinto was doing his best. "Something's wrong. I'll just take a chance." And Collie ran to the corral and roped the Yuma colt.
"I've brought back your handkerchief, Miss Cullison." "What have you done with my father?" He nodded toward the Mexican boy and Kate dismissed the lad. When he had gone she asked her question again in exactly the same words. "If we're going to discuss your father you had better get your quirt again," the sheepman suggested, touching a scar on his face.
Slipping the quirt from the horn of his saddle the cowboy brought it down across her horse's flank and the animal shot away straight into the opaque grey wall. Alice gave the horse a loose rein, set her lips, and gripped the horn of her saddle as the brute plunged on. The valley was not wide. They had reached a point where its sides narrowed to form the mouth of the canyon.
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