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Bower, B. M., 1871-1940

"The Quirt"


"What girl?" Lone looked at him noncommittally.
"Miss--ah--Hunter. Have you been away all the forenoon? The girl came to
the ranch in such a condition that I was afraid she might do herself or
some one else an injury. Has she been unbalanced for long?"
"If you mean Lorraine Hunter, she was all right last time I saw her, and
that was last night." Lone's eyes narrowed a little as he watched the
two. "You say she went to the Sawtooth?"
"She came pelting over there crazier than when you brought her in,"
Hawkins broke in gruffly. "She ain't safe going around alone like
that."
Senator Warfield glanced at him impatiently. "Is there any truth in her
declaring that Frank Johnson is dead? She seemed to have had a shock of
some kind. She was raving crazy, and in her rambling talk she said
something about Frank Johnson having died last night."
Lone glanced back as he led the way through the gate which Swan was
holding open. "He didn't die--he got killed last night," he corrected.
"Killed! And how did that happen? It was impossible to get two coherent
sentences out of the girl." Senator Warfield rode through just behind
Lone and reined close, lowering his voice.


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