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Brand, Max, 1892-1944

"Trailin'!"

The others,
gathering at their places of vantage, watched his progress toward the
house. Steve Nash described it to the wounded men, who had dragged
themselves half erect.
"He's walkin' right toward the house, wavin' the white rag. They ain't
goin' to shoot. He's goin' around the side of the house. He's stopped
there under the trees."
"Where?"
"At that grave of his wife under the two trees. He waits there like he
expected Bard to come out to him. And, by God, there goes Bard to meet
him--right out into the open."
"Steady, Steve! Drop that gun! If you shoot now you'll have Drew on your
head afterward."
"Don't I know it? But God, wouldn't it be easy? I got him square inside
the sights. Jest press the trigger and Anthony Bard is done for. He
walks up to Drew. He's got no gun on. He's empty-handed jest like Drew.
He's said something short and quick and starts to step across the grave.
"Drew points down to it and makes an answer. Bard steps back like he'd
been hit across the face and stands there lookin' at the mound. What did
Drew say? I'd give ten years of life to hear that talk!
"Bard looks sort of stunned; he stands there with a hand shadin' his
eyes, but the sun ain't that bright.


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