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Parrish, Randall, 1858-1923

"Bob Hampton of Placer"

The fact is, Buck, I had every reason
to wish Slavin to live. I was just getting out of him some information
I needed."
Mason nodded, his eyes wandering from Hampton's expressive face to the
crowd beginning to collect beneath the shade of a huge oak a hundred
yards below.
"Never carry a knife, do ye?"
"No."
"Thought not; always heard you fought with a gun. Caught no sight of
the feller after ye got up?"
"All I saw then was the crowd blocking the door-way. I knew they had
caught me lying on Slavin, with my hand grasping the knife-hilt, and,
someway, I couldn't think of anything just then but how to get out of
there into the open. I 've seen vigilantes turn loose before, and knew
what was likely to happen!"
"Sure. Recognize anybody in that first bunch?"
"Big Jim, the bartender, was the only one I knew; he had a bung-starter
in his hand."
Mason nodded thoughtfully, his mouth puckered. "It's him, and half a
dozen other fellers of the same stripe, who are kickin' up all this
fracas. The most of 'em are yonder now, an' if it wus n't fer leavin'
a prisoner unprotected, darn me if I wud n't like to mosey right down
thar an' pound a little hoss sense into thet bunch o' cattle.


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