Larry took the news hard. He inclined to the idea that she had
fallen again into the hands of the Indians. Nevertheless, he showed
himself terribly bitter against men of the Fresno stamp, and in fact
against all the outlaw, ruffianly, desperado class so numerous in
Benton.
Neale begged Larry to be cautious, to go slow, to ferret out things,
and so help him, instead of making it harder to locate Allie through
his impetuosity.
"Pard, I reckon Allie's done for," said Larry, gloomily.
"No--no! Larry, I feel she's alive--well. If she were dead or--or--
well, wouldn't I know?" protested Neale.
But Larry was not convinced. He had seen the hard side of border
life; he knew the odds against Allie.
"Reckon I'll look fer that Fresno," he said.
And deeper than before he plunged into Benton's wild life.
One evening Neale, on returning from work to his lodgings, found the
cowboy there. In the dim light Larry looked strange. He had his gun-
belt in his hands. Neale turned up the lamp.
"Hello, Red! What's the matter? You look pale and sick," said Neale.
"They wanted to throw me out of thet dance ball," said Larry.
"Which one?"
"Stanton's."
"Well, DID they?" inquired Neale.
"Wal, I reckon not. I walked. An' some night I'll shore clean out
thet hall.
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