Truly it was a crazy shack--such a building as two men, having the
materials at hand, might put together in a single day. It was hardly
based on a foundation, but rather set on the slope side of the hill, and
accordingly had settled down on the lower side toward the door. Not an
old place, but the wind had pried and the rain warped generous cracks
between the boards through which the rising storm whistled and sang and
through which the chill mist of the coming rain cut at them.
Now and then a feeling came to Anthony that the gale might lift the
tottering old shack and roll it on down the hillside to the floor of the
valley, for it rocked and swayed under the breath of the storm. In a way
it was as if the night was giving a loud voice to the silent struggle of
the two men, who continued pleasant, careless with each other.
But when Nash stepped across the room behind Bard, the latter turned and
was busy with the folding of his blankets at the foot of his bunk, his
face toward the cowpuncher and when Bard, slipping off his belt, fumbled
at his holster, Nash was instantly busy with the cleaning of his own
gun.
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