Well, Troy, he argued and urged, till at last up gits
little Lorna and says it's impossible, and that there's another man in
the question, and so Troy stands there mournful till she's out of
sight, and then hikes for the railroad, with a two-hundred dollar cash
present for the minister in his pocket, and probably another
seventy-five or a hundred in odds and ends.
And after him went Hy Smith, also. He flagged a train about a mile out
of town and hopped aboard. I come out of the bush and took the last
car, telling the brakie a much-needed man had got on forward. Also, I
took the Con. into my confidence. So just when we pulled into the next
town I steps behind Mr. Troy, puts a gun against the back of his neck,
and read the paper Ag had prepared for me.
"Now, Mr. Troy, alias Paris, alias Goat, etc., come with me, or go
forward in the icebox. Don't make a fuss or we'll alarm the
ladies--I've read you the warrant!"
He walked ahead as meek as Moses. By a cross-cut across the hills it
weren't more than four mile to Cactus, and Troy stepped it like a
four-year-old.
We come in behind the church. "That you, Hy?" says Ag. "Bring our
friend, Mr. Troy, through the rear. If you don't know the way, he'll
sell you a map for ten dollars."
"Whenever you want to die, just holler," says I to Troy. It was a
quiet journey. When we got inside, there was Ag and the cow-punch,
smiling kindly.
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