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Brand, Max, 1892-1944

"Trailin'!"

Well, I knew nobody could ever
stand up to Drew.
"The chief is talkin' fast and hard. The young feller shakes his head.
Drew begins talkin' again. You'd think he was pleadin' for his life in
front of a jury that meant him wrong. His hands go out like he was
makin' an election speech. He holds one hand down like he was measurin'
the height of a kid. He throws up his arms again like he'd lost
everything in the world.
"And now Bard has dropped the hand from his face. He looks sort of
interested. He steps closer to the grave again. Drew holds out both his
arms. By God, boys, he's pleadin' with Bard.
"And the head of Bard is dropped. How's it goin' to turn out? Drew wins,
of course. There goes Bard's hand out as if it was pulled ag'in' his
will. Drew catches it in both his own. Boys, here's where we grab our
hosses and beat it."
He turned from the rocks in haste.
"What d'you mean?" cried Conklin. "Steve, are you goin' to leave us here
to finish the job you started?"
"Finish it? You fools! Don't you see that Drew and Bard is pals now? If
we couldn't finish Bard alone, how'd we make out ag'in' the two of them?
The game's up, boys; the thing that's left is for us to save our
hides--if we can--before them two start after us.


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