Can't I do a thing for
you?"
Leroy smiled faintly. "Not a thing. I'll be right here when you
get back, York."
The curly-headed young puncher took Leroy's hand in his, gulping
down a boyish sob. "I ain't been square with you, cap. I reckon
after this-- when you git well--I'll not be such a coyote any
more."
The dying man's eyes were lit with a beautiful tenderness.
"There's one thing you can do for me, York. . . . I'm out of the
game, but I want you to make a new start. . . . I got you into
this life, boy. Quit it, and live straight. There's nothing to
it, York."
The cowboy-bandit choked. "Don't you worry about me, cap. I'm all
right. I'd just as lief quit this deviltry, anyhow."
"I want you to promise, boy." A whimsical, half-cynical smile
touched Leroy's eyes. "You see, after living like a devil for
thirty years, I want to die like a Christian. Now, go, York."
After Neil had left him, Leroy's eyes closed. Faintly he heard
two more shots echoing down the valley, but the meaning of them
was already lost to his wandering mind.
Neil dodged rapidly round the foot of the mountain with intent to
cut off the bandits as they retreated.
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