We-uns chased that man Dean clear to Briscoe's
house last night--his horse went lame and he got lost from his posse--but
when I fund he hed sheltered with Briscoe, we-uns went into the empty
hotel ter wait and watch fur him ter go. Not knowin' how many men Briscoe
hev got thar, we-uns didn't want ter tackle the house. An' whilst at the
hotel the Briscoes' tellyfun-bell rung--ye know it's on a party line with
the hotel connection--an' I tuk down the thing they call the receiver an'
listened. An' that's jes' the way Briscoe planned it: ter send the
revenuer down an hour by sun with the dog-cart an' his fine mare. Shucks!
Ef Briscoe war minded ter step into Frank Dean's shoes, he hev jes' hed
ter take what war savin' up fur the revenuer, that's all!" Once more he
relapsed into silent staring at the brink, balked, dumfounded, and
amazed.
Suddenly he seemed to respond to some inward monition of danger, of
responsibility. "I be enough of a dead shot ter stop all that dad-burned
talk of yourn!" he drawled in a languid, falsetto, spiritless voice, but
with an odd intimation of a deadly intention.
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