"Another one of yer ol' pals, Matt. You two ought ter have a lot ter
talk over, an' thar's six hours yet till daylight."
The little marshal drew back, and closed the door. He heard the echo
of an oath, or two, within as he turned the key in the lock. Then he
straightened up and laughed, slapping his knee with his hand.
"Well," he said at last, soberly. "I reckon my place will be about
yere till sun-up; thar might be some more critters like that
gallivantin' round in these parts--I hope Matt's enjoyin' himself."
CHAPTER XXXIII: THE REAL MR. CAVENDISH
It was a hard, slow journey back across the desert. Moore's team and
wagon were requisitioned for the purpose, but Matt himself remained
behind to help Brennan with the prisoners and cattle, until the party
returning to Haskell could send them help.
Westcott drove, with Miss Donovan perched beside him on the
spring-seat, and Cavendish lying on a pile of blankets beneath the
shadow of the canvas top. It became exceedingly hot as the sun mounted
into the sky, and once they encountered a sand storm, which so blinded
horses and driver, they were compelled to halt and turn aside from its
fury for nearly an hour.
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