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Brand, Max, 1892-1944

"Trailin'!"

She pressed the muzzle of her revolver
against his side.
"You're in beckoning distance of that hell, Steve!"
"You she-wolf--shoot and be damned! I'd live long enough to strangle
you."
"You know me, Steve; don't be a fool."
"Know you? Nobody knows you. And God Almighty, Sally, I love you worse'n
ever; love the very way you hate me. Come here!"
He jerked her closer still, leaned; and she remembered then that
Anthony had never kissed her. She said:
"You're safe; you know he can't see you."
He threw her from him and stood snarling like a dog growling for the
bone it fears to touch because there may be poison in the taste--a
starving dog, and a bone full of toothsome marrow which has only to be
crushed in order that it may be enjoyed.
"I'm wishin' nothin' more than that he could see me."
"Then you're a worse fool than I took you for, Steve. You know he'd go
through ten like you."
"There ain't no man has gone through me yet."
"But he would. You know it. He's not stronger, maybe not so strong. But
he was born to win, Steve; he's like--he's like Drew, in a way.


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