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Bower, B. M., 1871-1940

"The Quirt"

My hearing's
pretty good."
Warfield moved the spark lever up and down on the wheel while he
thought. "Well," he said carefully at last, "if you're falling down in
your work, what are you whining about it to me for? What do you want?"
Al moistened his lips with his tongue. "I want to know how far I can go.
It's been hands off the Quirt, up to now. And the Quirt's beginning to
think it can get away with most anything. They've throwed a fence across
the pass through from Sugar Spring to Whisper. That sends us away around
by Three Creek. You can't trail stock across Granite Ridge, nor them
lava ledges. If it's going to be hands off, I want to know it. There's
other places I'd rather live in, if the Quirt's going to raise talk
about Fred Thurman."
Senator Warfield pulled at his collar and tie as if they choked him.
"The Quirt has made no trouble," he said. "Of course, if they begin
throwing fences across our stock trails and peddling gossip, that is
another story. I expect you to protect our interests, of course. And I
have never made a practice of dictating to you. In this case"--he sent a
sharp glance at Al--"it seems to me your interests are involved more
than ours.


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