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Brand, Max, 1892-1944

"The Seventh Man"

"
"Now, what in hell are you driving at?"
"She'll be thinkin' of Joan. God knows she worried enough because Dan
hasn't brought the kid back before this, but when she hears what he's done
now, she'll know that he's wild for keeps and she'll be on the trail to
bring the young'un home."
He turned his back cleanly on the house and set his shoulders tense.
"Go on, Lee. Be a man."
He heard the steps of Haines start briskly enough for the house, but they
trailed away, slowly and more slowly, and finally there was a long pause.
"He's standing at the door," muttered Buck. "Thank God I ain't in his
boots."
He jerked out his papers and tobacco, but in the very act of twisting the
cigarette tight the door slammed and he ripped the flimsy thing in two. He
started to take another paper, but his fingers were so unsteady that he
could not pull away the single sheet of tissue which he wanted. Then his
hands froze in place.
A faint tapping came out to him.
"He--he's rapping on her door," whispered Buck, and remained fixed in
place, his eyes staring straight before him.


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