The review. [volume] (High Point, N.C.) 1908-19??, 1920-01-22
CHAPTER I.-Continued.

| some letters, l reckon. Send them to
Miss Myra Anderson, TombstoL :, care
of one of the restaurants. / don't
know which one"
"Send nothin'," sneered Dutch, and
coupled it with a remark no decent
man makes of a woman on a guess.
Because of poor Mac lying there
with the little hole in his temple Curly
boiled over. With jerk his right arm
| was free. It shot out like a pile
| driver all his weight behind the blow.
Dutch went down as if a charging bull
had flung him.
Almost simultaneously Curly hit the
sand hard. Before he could stir three
men were straddled over his anatomy.
One of them ground his head into the
dust. y
"You would, Ell? Well see about
that. Jake, bring yore rope"
They tied the hands of the boy.
hauled him to his feet, and set him
astride a horse. In the distance a
windmill of the Circle G ranch was
shining in the morning sun. Toward
the group of buildings clustered around
this two of his captors started with
Flandrau.
AS they rode along a fenced lane
which led to the house a girl came fly
ing down the steps. At sight of those
coming toward her she called out
quickly:
"How is dad?" The culver of fear
broke in her voice.
Don't know yet, Miss Kate" an
swered one of the men. Hes right
peart though. Says for to tell you
not to worry. We've got here the
NANCY son of gun that did it."
Before he had finished she was off
like an arrow shot from a bow, but
not until her eyes had fallen on the
youth sitting bareheaded and bloody
between the guns of his guard. Curly
noticed that she had given a shudder
as one might at sight of a mangled
mad dog which had just bit dear
friend. Long after the pounding of
her pony's hoofs had died away the
prisoner could see the startled eyes of
fear and horror that had rested on
him.
His guards put Flandrau in the bunk
house and one of them sat at the door
the stable boy, and red-headed Bob
Cullison, a nephew of the owner Of the
ranch, peered past the vaquero at the
captive with the same awe they would
have yielded to a Gagged panther.
"Why, he's only a kid, Buck" the
cook whispered.
Buck chewed tobacco impasSively.
"Old enough to be a rustler and a
killer"
Bob's blue eyes were wide with in
terest "I'll bet he's a regular Billy
the Kid" murmured the lf-grown
boy to the other lad.
"Sure. Course he is. He's got bad
eyes all right"
"I'll bet he's got notches on his gun.
Say, if Uncle Luck dies" Bob left
the result to the imagination.
The excitement at the Circle G in
creased. Horses cantered up. Men
shouted to each other the news. Oc-
casionally some one came in to have a
look at the ''bad man. who had shot
Luck Cullison. Young Flandrau lay
on a cot and stared at the ceiling,
paying no more attention to them than
If they had been blocks of wood.
The crunch of wagon wheels over
disintegrated granite drifted to the
clubhouse.
They're bringing the boss back"
Buck announced from the door to one
of his visitors.
The man joined him and looked over
his shoulder. Miss Kate there too?'
"Yep. Say, if the old man don't pull
through it will break her all up.'
The boy on the bed turned his face
to the wall. He had not cried for ten
years, but now he would have liked the
relief of tears. A big lump rose in his
throat and would not stay down. The
irony of it was that he was staged for
the part of gray wolf on the howl,
while he felt more like a little child
that has lost it's last friend.
After a time there came again the
crisp roll of wheels.
doc Brown" announced Buck cas-
ually to the other men in the bunk
house.
There was more than one anxious
heart at the Circle G waiting for the
verdict Of the bowlegged, baldheaded
little man with the satchel, but not
one Of them-no, not even Kate Cul-
ljson herself-vas In a colder fear
than Flandrau, for If Cullison should
die he knew that he would follow him