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Beach, Rex Ellingwood, 1877-1949

"Heart of the Sunset"

Nor did he rise to look after the grotesquely huddled figure
that had been a cattle thief only a moment before--both he and his
assailant had been too close to miss. From the corner of his eye
he could see a pair of boot-soles staring at him out of the grass,
and they told him there was no need for investigation. Near the
body he heard a calf stirring, but he let it struggle.
Bessie Belle's bright eyes were glazing; she did not hear her
lover's voice. Her muzzle, softer than any satin, was loose, her
lips would never twitch with that clumsy, quivering caress which
pleased her master so. One front hoof, washed as clean as agate,
was awkwardly bent under her, the other had plowed a furrow in the
soft earth as she sank, and against this leg her head lay tipped.
Don Ricardo and his son burst out of the brush from opposite
directions almost at the same moment, to find the Ranger with his
face buried in his horse's mane.
"Caramba! What is this?" The old man flung himself from the saddle
and came running. "You are injured?"
Pedro, too, bent over the officer, his brown face pale with
apprehension. "Mother of God!" breathed the latter. "It was a wild
thing to do, to ride alone---"
"I'm all right," Law said, rising stiffly, whereupon both Mexicans
voiced their relief.


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