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doc#139 | beneath the shirt. Ten years older than Mitch | Barton | , he had clawed his way up from mucker in |
doc#139 | drew out a tintype. </p><p> "This is Mitchell | Barton | . He broke out of Folsom last night. Apparently |
doc#139 | walked the horses, heading along the river, | Barton | and Emmett Foster in the lead, seven men |
doc#139 | He dumped me in solitary twice". </p><p> | Barton | caught the lighter man's shoulder and swung |
doc#139 | guard's head. </p><p> They were free. Even | Barton | could not quite believe it. It had gone |
doc#139 | faro bank in Cap Ayres' saloon". </p><p> | Barton | cursed under his breath. After another |
doc#139 | without the solace of tobacco. </p><p> Mitchell | Barton | drew in the fragrance deeply, letting the |
doc#139 | silent, Rankin watchful, a few paces apart. | Barton | finished his dressing and extended his |
doc#139 | was silent as if he hated to answer, and | Barton | had a cold, sick feeling of apprehension |
doc#139 | had escaped the trial. It was to him that | Barton | had sent Carl Dill on Dill's release from |
doc#139 | . </p><p> "He's in Morgan's Ferry". </p><p> | Barton | half-straightened in surprise. </p><p> "What |
doc#139 | here". </p><p> "I got no place to go". </p><p> | Barton | hesitated. He did not trust Rankin, his |
doc#139 | set up. The old Haskell mine". </p><p> Mitch | Barton | knew the place. Twenty years before a group |
doc#139 | two men were guarding that trail". </p><p> | Barton | nodded. "How do the valley people feel" |
doc#139 | days lost time to fix them. We don't want | Barton | 's Night Riders loose again". </p><p> The |
doc#139 | the child ...". </p><p> "The hell you do". | Barton | 's voice was rougher than Dill had ever |
doc#139 | sound, falling to the bare floor. </p><p> | Barton | said harshly, "Why did you do that"? </p> |
doc#139 | turned to the door. As he passed through it | Barton | shoved his gun against the man's side. </p> |
doc#139 | written him. He wants your ranch". </p><p> | Barton | stood up. He said tensely, "All right. |
doc#139 | <p> Fred Rankin looked at him. It seemed to | Barton | that the green eyes mocked him, the thin |