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Brand, Max, 1892-1944

"Trailin'!"

Deputy Glendin, he sits up in a back
room playin' poker and hittin' the redeye. No wonder Eldara's goin' to
hell!"
A muffled cursing rolled down to the cowpuncher, and then a sharp
challenge: "Who's there?"
"Nash, you blockhead!"
"Nash!" cried a relieved voice, "come in; confound you. I thought--no
matter what I thought. Come in!"
Nash opened the door and went up the stairs. The deputy met him, clad in
a bathrobe and carrying a lamp. Under the bathrobe he was fully dressed.
"Thought your game was called, eh?" grinned the cattleman.
"Sure. I had a tidy little thing in black-jack running and was pulling
in the iron boys, one after another. Why didn't you tip me off? You
could have sat in with us."
"Nope; I'm here on business."
"Let's have it."
He led the way into a back room and placed the lamp on a table littered
with cards and a black bottle looming in the centre.
"Drink?"
"Nope. I said I came on business."
"What kind?"
"Bard."
"I thought so."
"I want a posse."
"What's he done?"
"Killed Calamity Ben at Drew's place, started a fire that near burned
the house, and lifted Duffy's hoss.


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