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Brand, Max, 1892-1944

"Alcatraz"

Until at length, at a word from Hervey, they
dismounted, tethered their horses here and there where there was
sufficient grass to occupy them and keep them from growing nervous and
neighing, and then started on again on foot.
At this point Hervey took the lead. For that matter, he had never been
lacking in sheer animal courage, and now he wound up the path with
his long colt in his hand, ready to shoot, and shoot to kill. Once or
twice small sounds made him pause, uneasy. But his progress was fairly
steady until he came to the edge of the little clearing where the
shack stood.
There was no sign of life about it. The shack seemed deserted. Thick
darkness filled its doorway and the window, though the rest of the
clearing was still permeated with a faint afterglow of the sunset.
"He ain't here," said Little Joe softly, as he came to the side of the
watchful foreman.
"Don't be too sure," said the other. "I'd trust this Perris and
take about as many chances with him as I would with a rattler in a
six-by-six room. Maybe he's in there playing possum. Waiting for us to
make a break across the clearing. That'd be fine for Red Jim, damn his
heart!"
Little Joe peered back at the anxious faces of the others, as they
came up the path one by one.


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