The dust-cloud was dwindling
every minute. And without hope, she cast another glance towards the
corrals. Evidently, the men agreed that it was unnecessary for two of
them to stay in the heat of the sun to prevent her from getting at
a horse. Hastings had turned his back and was strolling towards the
bunkhouse. McGuire was perched on a stump rolling a cigarette and
grinning broadly towards her.
He would be a hard man to handle. But at least there was more hope
than before. One man was not so hard to manage as two, each shaming
the other into indifference. She went slowly towards McGuire, turning
again to see the dust-cloud roll out of view over a distant hill.
In that cloud of dust, Hervey kept the pace down to an easy dog-trot.
From mid-afternoon until evening--for he did not intend to expose
himself primarily and his men in the second place, to the accurate gun
of Red Jim in broad daylight--was a comfortable stretch in which
to make the journey to the shack on the mountain-side. Like a good
general, he kept the minds of his followers from growing tense by
deftly turning the talk, on the way, to other topics, as they swung
off the east trail towards Glosterville and journeyed due north over
the rolling foothills.
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