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Mavericks by William MacLeod Raine
page 81 of 342 (23%)
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"It's you that has got the drop on me, isn't it?" he suggested.

The rifle went back to the saddle. Instantly the girl was in motion
again, flying up the cañon past the white-stockinged roan, her pony's
hindquarters gathered to take the sheep trail like those of a wild cat.

Keller gazed after her. As she disappeared, he took off his hat, bowed
elaborately, and remarked to himself, in his low, soft drawl:

"Good mo'ning, ma'am. See you again one of these days, mebbe, when you
ain't in such a hurry."

But though he appeared to take the adventure whimsically his mind was
busy with its meaning. She was in danger, and he must save her. So much
he knew at least.

He had scarcely turned the head of his horse toward the mouth of the
cañon when the pursuit drove headlong into sight. Galloping men pounded
up the arroyo, and came to halt at his sharp summons. Already Keller
and his horse were behind a huge boulder, over the top of which gleamed
the short barrel of a wicked-looking gun.

"Mornin', gentlemen. Lost something up this gulch, have you?" he wanted
to know amiably.

The last rider, coming to a gingerly halt in order not to jar an arm
bandaged roughly in a polka-dot bandanna, swore roundly. He was a large,
heavy-set man, still on the sunny side of forty, imperious, a born
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