rocks.
He finished his cigarette and drank the remaining coffee, and then the men walked out of the saloon, and he was alone. "Thanks, Jim," he said.
"Don't thank me. I just don't want any trouble." "All right."
Radigan got up and walked to the bar and paid Downey, who dropped the money into the cash drawer without glancing at it. "Watch yourself, Tom. They'll be waiting."
Radigan glanced out the window. Their horses were gone, but there was a man loitering across the street and up a short distance.
Radigan grinned. "God have pity on the poor sailors on such a night as this!"
Downey said, "You'll do, Torn- only those boys want you." "Pack me a bait of grub, will you? I may be in the hills a couple of days."
"That girl didn't get hurt, did she?" Downey asked.
"No. Lot of iron in that girl, Pat. She'll be around when the chips are cashed in."
He shrugged into his coat while Downey put the last of the bundle together. Radigan was thinking of' all the buildings down the street. There were four on the right side of the road, three on the left, and scattered houses back of that, lanes, barnyards, stables. The Hansen house was on the left but back from the road, and the idea came to him suddenly.
"See you." He walked out the door and closed it carefully behind him. He crossed the walk as if going away from the saloon, then turned and stepped quickly into the saddle on the black horse, swung abruptly around the saloon and behind it.
The action was swift and unexpected. The watcher across the street was caught flat-footed, but instantly he dashed across the street. Before he could round the saloon, Radigan rode from behind it and was across the street and behind a building there. He rode down into the wash, came up through the trees, walking the black in soft sand to make no noise. And then he rode directly for the Hansen place.
It was a big, old adobe with an upstairs gallery and it stood among some cottonwoods with corrals and a barn behind it. The sun was high, and Radigan walked the black along the trail, knowing the horse was unfamiliar and gambling nobody was apt to be there who would know him. He walked the horse past the house and tied in among some brush under the cottonwoods beyond the house.
From inside the house he heard a pleasant soprano voice singing an old love song.
He listened for a moment, then rapped on the door. A breeze stirred the cottonwoods and they chafed their leaves with soft whispering. The singing stopped and he heard footsteps within. He shifted his weight and the floor boards creaked slightly, and the door swung open.
Angelina Foley was quite obviously astonished. He removed his hat. "How do you do, Miss Gelina? Are you receiving callers?"
Momentarily she hesitated, then she stepped back. "Come in. You startled me."
"Some of your men seemed to be in a fighting mood," he commented casually, "and I thought I'd let them cool off a bit." He smiled. "And I thought it might he a good time to get better acquainted."
"You're assuming that I wish to know you better?" "Don't you?"
"I'm not sure." She motioned to a divan. "You have your nerve, coming here."
"Can you think of a better place?" He relaxed on the divan. From where he sat he could see the trail leading up to the ranch. "If one has to wait, why not where a man can talk to a beautiful girl?"
She waited, and he looked around the house. It was a roomy old place, cool, comfortable and quiet, yet much had been done to change it. There were curtains in the windows tonight, and a piano-how long since he had seen a piano outside of a barroom?
"You sing very well. Do you play?" "Of course."
"Will you?"
"Mr. Radigan, if you have any business with me, please state it. I have no intention of playing for you, and I think it impudent of you to suggest it."
"It is all too rare when we hear music out here," he replied, his manner reflecting no reaction to her evident impatience. "Especially old Italian folk songs."
"You know that song?" Her
He finished his cigarette and drank the remaining coffee, and then the men walked out of the saloon, and he was alone. "Thanks, Jim," he said.
"Don't thank me. I just don't want any trouble." "All right."
Radigan got up and walked to the bar and paid Downey, who dropped the money into the cash drawer without glancing at it. "Watch yourself, Tom. They'll be waiting."
Radigan glanced out the window. Their horses were gone, but there was a man loitering across the street and up a short distance.
Radigan grinned. "God have pity on the poor sailors on such a night as this!"
Downey said, "You'll do, Torn- only those boys want you." "Pack me a bait of grub, will you? I may be in the hills a couple of days."
"That girl didn't get hurt, did she?" Downey asked.
"No. Lot of iron in that girl, Pat. She'll be around when the chips are cashed in."
He shrugged into his coat while Downey put the last of the bundle together. Radigan was thinking of' all the buildings down the street. There were four on the right side of the road, three on the left, and scattered houses back of that, lanes, barnyards, stables. The Hansen house was on the left but back from the road, and the idea came to him suddenly.
"See you." He walked out the door and closed it carefully behind him. He crossed the walk as if going away from the saloon, then turned and stepped quickly into the saddle on the black horse, swung abruptly around the saloon and behind it.
The action was swift and unexpected. The watcher across the street was caught flat-footed, but instantly he dashed across the street. Before he could round the saloon, Radigan rode from behind it and was across the street and behind a building there. He rode down into the wash, came up through the trees, walking the black in soft sand to make no noise. And then he rode directly for the Hansen place.
It was a big, old adobe with an upstairs gallery and it stood among some cottonwoods with corrals and a barn behind it. The sun was high, and Radigan walked the black along the trail, knowing the horse was unfamiliar and gambling nobody was apt to be there who would know him. He walked the horse past the house and tied in among some brush under the cottonwoods beyond the house.
From inside the house he heard a pleasant soprano voice singing an old love song.
He listened for a moment, then rapped on the door. A breeze stirred the cottonwoods and they chafed their leaves with soft whispering. The singing stopped and he heard footsteps within. He shifted his weight and the floor boards creaked slightly, and the door swung open.
Angelina Foley was quite obviously astonished. He removed his hat. "How do you do, Miss Gelina? Are you receiving callers?"
Momentarily she hesitated, then she stepped back. "Come in. You startled me."
"Some of your men seemed to be in a fighting mood," he commented casually, "and I thought I'd let them cool off a bit." He smiled. "And I thought it might he a good time to get better acquainted."
"You're assuming that I wish to know you better?" "Don't you?"
"I'm not sure." She motioned to a divan. "You have your nerve, coming here."
"Can you think of a better place?" He relaxed on the divan. From where he sat he could see the trail leading up to the ranch. "If one has to wait, why not where a man can talk to a beautiful girl?"
She waited, and he looked around the house. It was a roomy old place, cool, comfortable and quiet, yet much had been done to change it. There were curtains in the windows tonight, and a piano-how long since he had seen a piano outside of a barroom?
"You sing very well. Do you play?" "Of course."
"Will you?"
"Mr. Radigan, if you have any business with me, please state it. I have no intention of playing for you, and I think it impudent of you to suggest it."
"It is all too rare when we hear music out here," he replied, his manner reflecting no reaction to her evident impatience. "Especially old Italian folk songs."
"You know that song?" Her
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