He took her other little note from his pocket and let the
yellow flame lick it up. Then, grinding the ashes under his heel, he put
out the light and went again to the door.
The recent shooting at the Here's How Saloon by some man who had stood
almost at the cowboy's elbow, he had for a little forgotten as he
pondered on his own personal danger and admitted that the case was going
to look bad against him in spite of what he might do. But now, for a
moment, he forgot his own predicament to become lost in frowning
speculation upon the night's crime.
He knew that men like the Bedloes, hard men living hard lives, have many
enemies. There were the men whom they had cheated at cards, and who had
cheated them, with whom they had drunk and quarrelled. It was clear to
him that any one of a dozen men, bearing a grudge against Charley
Bedloe, but afraid to attack in the open any one of these three brothers
who fought like tigers and who took up one another's quarrels with no
thought of the right and the wrong of it, might have chosen this method.
Yes, this was clear. But one thing was not. The night had passed and
neither the Kid nor Ed Bedloe had called to square with him. He did not
understand this. For he did not believe that even their affiliation with
Broderick and Pollard would have held the Kid and Ed back from their
vengeance now.
Pages:
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276