But Sheriff Collins won't do it. If you think
you can twist a promise out of him not to take advantage of what
he has found out you're guessing wrong. When you think he's a
quitter, just look at that cork hand of his, and remember how
come he to get it. He'll take his medicine proper, but he'll
never crawl."
"There must be some way," she cried desperately,
"Since you make a point of it, I'll give him his chance."
"You'll let him go?" The joy in her voice was tremulously plain.
He laughed, leaning carelessly against the mantelshelf. But his
narrowed eyes watched her vigilantly. "I didn't say I would let
him go. What I said was that I'd give him a chance."
"How?"
"They say he's a dead shot. I'm a few with a gun myself. We'll
ride down to the plains together, and find a good lonely spot
suitable for a graveyard. Then one of us will ride away, and the
other will stay, or perhaps both of us will stay."
She shuddered. "No--no--no. I won't have it."
"Afraid something might happen to me, ma'am?" he asked, with a
queer laugh,
"I won't have it."
"Afraid, perhaps, he might be the one left for the coyotes and
the buzzards?"
She was white to the lips, but at his next word the blood came
flaming back to her cheeks.
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