... I
wonder if you've ever been there?"
"No. Why?"
"I wonder if you know anything about the place?"
"What I've heard. What Mr. Templeton tried to tell me."
"Well," he said thoughtfully, "I don't know that I blame him for trying
to turn you into another trail. He must have told you," and he was
watching her very keenly, "that the stage runs there from Dry Town?"
"Yes. But I chose to ride on horseback. Is there anything strange in
that?"
"Oh, no!" he said briefly. "Just a nice little ride!"
"I have ridden long trails before."
Again for a little while she watched him with intent, eager eyes; he was
silent, frowning into his own cup of coffee.
"Dead Man's Alley," he volunteered abruptly, "is the worst little bad
town I ever saw. And I've camped in two or three that a man wouldn't
call just exactly healthy on the dark of the moon. I guess Mr.
Templeton must have told you, but unless it's happened in the last
month, there isn't a man in that town who has his wife or daughters
there. If I were you," and he lifted his cup to his lips as a sign that
he had said his say, "I'd rope my cow pony and hit the home trail for
Dry Town!"
"Thank you," she said as quietly as he had spoken. "But really Mr.
Pages:
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93