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The Lure of the Dim Trails by B. M. Bower
page 62 of 114 (54%)
invited briskly. "There's just the trap-door into it, and the
windows ain't big enough for a cat to go through. Mona, get a
candle for Mr. Lauman." She turned to hurry the girl, and
found Mona at her elbow with a light.

"That's the kind uh woman I like to have around," Lauman
chuckled. "Come on, boys; hustle down there if yuh want to see
Glasgow again."

Trembling, all their dare-devil courage sapped from them by the
menace of Thurston's words, they stumbled down the steep stairs,
and the darkness swallowed them. Lauman beckoned to his deputy.

"You go with 'em, Waller," he ordered. "If anybody but me
offers to lift this trap, shoot. Don't yuh take any chances.
Blow out that candle soon as you're located."

It was then that fifty riders clattered into the yard and up to
the front door, grouping in a way that left no exit unseen.
Thurston, standing in the doorway, knew them almost to a man.
Lazy Eight boys, they were; men who night after night had spread
their blankets under the tent-roof with him and with Bob
MacGregor; Bob, who lay silently out on the hill back of the
home ranch-house, waiting for the last, great round-up. They
glanced at him in mute greeting and dismounted without a word.
With them mingled the Circle Bar boys, as silent and grim as
their fellows. Lauman came up and peered into the dusk; Thurston
observed that he carried his Winchester unobtrusively in one
hand.

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