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Parrish, Randall, 1858-1923

"Bob Hampton of Placer"

"You lie, Slavin! The last
message did not reach here until this morning. That fellow is hiding
somewhere in this camp, and the two of you have been trying to get at
the girl. Now, damn you, what is your little game?"
The big gambler was thinking harder then, perhaps, than he had ever
thought in his life before. He was no coward, although there was a
yellow, wolfish streak of treachery in him, and he read clearly enough
in the watchful eyes glowing behind that blue steel barrel a merciless
determination which left him nerveless. He knew Hampton would kill him
if he needed to do so, but he likewise realized that he was not likely
to fire until he had gained the information he was seeking. Cunning
pointed the only safe way out from this difficulty. Lies had served
his turn well before, and he hoped much from them now. If he only knew
how much information the other possessed, it would be easy enough. As
he did not, he must wield his weapon blindly.
"You 're makin' a devil of a fuss over little or nuthin'," he growled,
simulating a tone of disgust. "I never ain't hed no quarrel with ye,
exceptin' fer the way ye managed ter skin me at the table bout two
years ago.


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