Pickens was little, scrubby, dusty, sandy, mottled,
and he resembled a rattlesnake. Hilliard was big, gaunt, bronzed, with
huge mustache and hollow, fierce eyes. I never had seen a grave-robber,
but I imagined one would be like Hilliard. Bo Snecker was a sleek, slim,
slender, hard-looking boy, marked dangerous, because he was too young
and too wild to have caution or fear. Blome, the last of the bunch,
showed the effects of a bad night.
"You girls remember how handsome he was, but he didn't look it now. His
face was swollen, dark, red, and as it had been bright, now it was dull.
Indeed, he looked sullen, shamed, sore. He was sober now. Thought was
written on his clouded brow. He was awakening now to the truth that the
day before had branded him a coward and sent him out to bolster up
courage with drink. His vanity had begun to bleed. He knew, if his
faithful comrades had not awakened to it yet, that his prestige had been
ruined. For a gunman, he had suffered the last degradation. He had been
bidden to draw and he had failed of the nerve.
"He breathed heavily; his eyes were not clear; his hands were shaky.
Almost I pitied this rustler who very soon must face an incredibly swift
and mercilessly fatal Ranger.
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