The Beaver herald. [volume] (Beaver, O.T. [Okla.]) 1895-1923, 1917-04-26

I've been trying 90 think she re-
turned and be perceived 10 the hard
hess ~ her voice how at bay she felt
ia giving him The least bit Of lnfor.
nation, whether / ought to tell you
anything % aB-"
! couldn't very deccutly take any
unfair advantage after what you've
done. could II
''Then--you are IN Morgan's gap"
she said, swiftly, as II she wanted it
Oh her mind.
There was no movement Of surprise.
neither was there any answer. Il
supposed, when found you here. you
knew that" she added less resOlutcly;
the darkness and silence were plainly
a strain. you are at the foot Of Afu-
sic mountain, about a mile from where
live"
you must have thought meant 10
raid your house. / didn't. / was hit.
I got mixed up in trying TO get away.
You want me out OF hereT'
"Very much"
'NO more than / want TO get out.
Perhaps by tomorrow / could walk
few miles. / should have to assassl-
nate somebody to get some ammunl-
ton"
'It wouldn't be hard for you to do
that, presume"
Her words and her tone revealed the
intensity OF her dislike and the depth
Of her distrust.
He was silent for n moment. Then
he said, without resentment, "You are
ashamed already OF saying that, aren't
your
"No, I am not" she answered de-
family.
Yes, you are. You know # isn't
true. II you believed It, you never
would have brought food here to save
my life"
IL brought II 20 snye some OF my
own Hcoph from possible death NJ
your hands-tO prevent another fight
. 10 see II you hadn't manhood enough
after being helped, TO go away, when
you We're able to move, peaceably. one
: cartridge might mean one life, dear
p to me-"
= 81 know whose life you mean
"You know nothing about. what
! mean"
II know better than you know your
self. II / believed yOn. | shouldn't
respect you. Fear and mercy are tw,
I different things. IL | thought yoI
: were only afraid Of me, l shouldn'
] think much OF your aid. Listen
| never took the life Of any man excep
G TO defend my own"
"No murderer that ever took any
, body's life In this country ever sal,
anything but that"
! 'Don't class me with murderers."
"You are known from one end Of tn,
country to the other as gunman."
He answered impassively: "Dl'
] these men who call me gunman eve
| tell you why I'm one" She seeme'
| In too hostile n mood to answer. e
| guess not" he went on. Let me tel
| you now. The next time you hear m
| called n gunman you can tell them.
| Il won't llsten," she exclaimed, res
tive.
! YES you will llsten," he said qul
city; you shall hear every word. NJ
! father brought sheep into the Peac
| river country. The cattlemen plclie
| on him TO make an example of. ii
| went out, unarmcd, one night TO TAX
| care of the horses. My mother hear
| two shots. lie didn't come back. Sh
| went to look for him. lie was lyin
| under the corral gate with a hOl
] smashed through his jaw by riil
| bullet that tore his head half or. u
Spein did not raise his voice, nor dl
he hasten his words. IL was Dor
one night six months after that" h
| continued. 'My mother died tina
j night. When IA nelghbOr's wife too
b. me from her arm and wrapped me In
blanket she saw | carried the fac
OF my father as my mother had see
j It the night he was murdered. That,
he said, ''is what made me 'gunman
q. Not whlsky-not women-not cards
just what you've heard. And I'll te
Z you something else you may tell III
d men that call me a gunman. The ma
y that shot down my father at his cora
gate ! haven't found yet. l expect I
.r find him. For ten years I've been ge
g ting ready TO find him. He is here
Z IN these mountains. don't eve
,r know his name. But II live. I'll fin
him. And when l do. III tear open hi