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Brand, Max, 1892-1944

"Trailin'!"

If they do start, then
God help us all!"
He was already in the saddle.
"Wait!" called Conklin. "One of 'em's a tenderfoot. The other has left
his gun here. What we got to fear from 'em?"
And Nash snarled in return: "If there was a chance, don't you think I'd
take it? Don't you see I'm givin' up everythin' that amounts to a damn
with me? Tenderfoot? He may act Eastern and he may talk Eastern, but
he's got Western blood. There ain't no other way of explainin' it. And
Drew? He didn't have no gun when he busted the back of old Piotto. I
say, there's two men, armed or not, and between 'em they can do more'n
all of us could dream of. Boys, are you comin'?"
They went. The wounded were dragged to their feet and hoisted to their
horses, groaning. At a slow walk they started down through the trees.
Evening fell; the shadows slanted about them. They moved faster--at a
trot--at a gallop. They were like men flying from a certain ruin. Beyond
the margin of the bright lake they fled and lost themselves in the vast,
secret heart of the mountain-desert.


CHAPTER XLI

SALLY WEEPS
All that day, in a silence broken only by murmurs and side glances,
Anthony and Sally Fortune moved about the old house from window to
window, and from crack to crack, keeping a steady eye on the commanding
rocks above.


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