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Brand, Max, 1892-1944

"The Seventh Man"


"I s'pose Molly showed a clean pair of heels to the whole lot of 'em?" he
said to Dan.
"She's dead."
"Dead?" His astonishment was well enough affected. "God amighty, Dan, not
Grey Molly--my hoss?"
"Dead. I shot her."
Vic gasped. "You?"
"They'd busted her leg. I put her out of pain."
Gregg dropped into a chair. It was not altogether an affectation, not
altogether a piece of skilful acting now, for though the sheriff had told
him all that happened he had not had a chance to feel the truth; but now it
swept over him, all her tricks, all her deviltry, all that long
companionship. His head bowed.
No smile touched the faces of the others in the room, but a reverent
silence fell on the room. Then that figure among the shadows moved out,
stepped to the side of Vic, and a light hand rested on his shoulder. The
other looked up, haggard.
"She's gone, partner," Dan said gently, "but she's paid for."
"Paid for? Dan, they ain't any money could pay me back for Grey Molly."
"I know; I know! Not that way, but there was a life given for a life.


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