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Bower, B. M., 1871-1940

"The Quirt"

"This here gun's kinda techy, anyway, unless you're used
to a quick trigger. Yuh might be safer without it than with it."
By the time she was ready, Jim was tying his horse, Snake, to the
corral. Lorraine walked slowly past the bunk-house with her face turned
from it and her thoughts dwelling terrifiedly upon what lay within. Once
she was past she began running, as if she were trying to outrun her
thoughts. Jim watched her gravely, untied Snake and stood at his head
while she mounted, then walked ahead of her to the gate and opened it
for her.
"Yore nerves are sure shot to hell," he blurted sympathetically as she
rode past him. "I guess you need a ride, all right. Snake's plumb safe,
so yuh got no call to worry about him. Take it easy, Raine, on the
worrying. That's about the worst thing you can do."
Lorraine gave him a grateful glance and a faint attempt at a smile, and
rode up the trail she always took,--the trail where she had met Lone
that day when he returned her purse, the trail that led to Fred
Thurman's ranch and to Sugar Spring and, if you took a certain turn at a
certain place, to Granite Ridge and beyond.


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