They were
expressions, perhaps, that could never come but once.
I watched Steele through all that hideous din, that manifestation of
insane rage at his life and joy at his death, and when silence once more
reigned and he turned his white face to mine, I had a sensation of
dread. And dread was something particularly foreign to my nature.
"So Blome and the Sneckers think they've done for me," he muttered.
"Pleasant surprise for them to-morrow, eh, old man?" I queried.
"To-morrow? Look, Russ, what's left of my old 'dobe house is on fire. The
ruins can't be searched soon. And I was particular to fix things so it'd
look like I was home. I just wanted to give them a chance. It's
incomprehensible how easy men like them can be duped. Whisky-soaked!
Yes, they'll be surprised!"
He lingered a while, watching the smoldering fire and the dim columns of
smoke curling up against the dark blue. "Russ, do you suppose they heard
up at the ranch and think I'm--"
"They heard, of course," I replied. "But the girls know you're safe with
me."
"Safe? I--I almost wish to God I was there under that heap of ruins,
where the rustlers think they've left me."
"Well, Steele, old fellow, come on.
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