They swung down to us on a run, and it needed no second
glance at the features of Piegan Smith to know that he brought with him
a fresh supply of trouble. His scraggly beard was thrust forward
aggressively, and his deep-set eyes fairly blazed between narrowed lids.
"Slap your saddles on them fresh hosses," he grated harshly from the
back of a deep-chested, lean-flanked gray. "Let the others go--to hell
if they want to!"
"What's up?" I asked sharply, and MacRae flung the same query over one
shoulder as he fumbled at the tight-drawn latigo-knot.
Piegan rose in his stirrups and raised a clenched fist; the seamed face
of him grew purple under its tan, and the words came out like the
challenge of a range-bull.
"Them--them ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- has got your girl!" he roared.
The latigo dropped from MacRae's hand. "What?" he turned on Piegan
savagely, incredulously.
"I said it--I said it! Yuh heard me, didn't yuh!" Piegan shouted. "This
mornin' about sunrise. That Hicks--the damned ---- ---- ---- he come t'
Baker's as they hooked up t' leave the Spring. He had a note for her,
an' she dropped everything an' jumped on a hoss he'd brought an' rode
away with him, cryin' when she left. He told Horner you'd bin shot
resistin' arrest, an' wanted t' see her afore yuh cashed in.
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