Bartley felt like a quitter. Indecision irritated him, and curiosity
urged him to do something other than to stand staring at the saloon
front. He recalled his plan to sojourn in San Andreas a few days, and
incidently to ride over to the Lawrence ranch--frankly, to have another
visit with Dorothy. He shrugged his shoulders. That idea now seemed
insignificant, compared with the present possibilities.
"I'm a free agent," he soliloquized. "I think I'll take a hand in this,
myself."
He snapped his fingers as he turned and hastened to Dobe's stall. He led
Dobe out to the stable floor, got his saddle from the office, told the
sleepy stableman that he was going to take a little ride, and saddled
Dobe. And he led Dobe back to where Joshua was tied. He had forgotten
his victim on the floor, for a moment, but was aware of him when he
stumbled over him in the dark. The other mumbled and struggled faintly.
"I left your gun in the wagon-box," said Bartley. "I wouldn't move
around much, if I were you. One of the horses might step on your face
and hurt his foot."
Mr. Hull was not pleased at this, and he said as much.
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