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Brand, Max, 1892-1944

"Trailin'!"


"You fool!" cried Sally. "Ride for it! You've raised your hell at
last--I knew you would!"
Red light flared in all the windows of the dining-room; shouts and
groans and cursing poured out of them. Bard turned and followed her out
toward the stable on the run, and he heard her moaning as she ran: "I
knew! I knew!"
She mounted her horse, which was tethered near the barn. He chose at
random the first horse he reached, a grey, threw on his back the saddle
which hung from the peg behind, mounted, and they were off through the
night. No thought, no direction; but only in blind speed there seemed to
be the hope of a salvation.
A mile, two miles dropped behind them, and then in an open stretch, for
he had outridden her somewhat, Anthony reined back, caught the bridle of
her horse, and pulled it down to a sharp trot.
"Why have you come?"
Their faces were so close that even through the night he could see the
grim set of her lips.
"Ain't you raised your hell--the hell you was hungry to raise? Don't you
need help?"
"What I've done is my own doing.


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