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Brand, Max, 1892-1944

"Trailin'!"


Nash now swung more to the right, cutting across the hills, for he
presumed that by this time the tenderfoot must have gotten his bearings
and would head straight for Eldara. It was a stiff two day journey, now,
the whole first day's riding having been a worse than useless detour; so
the bulldog jaw set harder and harder, and the keen eyes squinted as if
to look into the dim future.
Once each day, about noon, when the heat made even the desert and the
men of the desert drowsy, he allowed his imagination to roam freely,
counting the thousand dollars over and over again, and tasting again the
joys of a double salary. Yet even his hardy imagination rarely rose to
the height of Sally Fortune. That hour of dreaming, however, made the
day of labour almost pleasant.
This time, in the very middle of his dream, he reached the cross-roads
saloon and general merchandise store of Flanders; so he banished his
visions with a compelling shrug of the shoulders and rode for it at a
gallop, a hot dryness growing in his throat at every stride. Quick
service he was sure to get, for there were not more than half a dozen
cattle-ponies standing in front of the little building with its rickety
walls guiltless of paint save for the one great sign inscribed with
uncertain letters.


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