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Anderson, Sherwood, 1876-1941

"Windy McPherson's Son"

A line came and went
on her forehead between her eyes. Sam thought she looked capable.
"I have been thinking of what you told me at the stage door," she said,
and a childlike smile played about her lips. "Do you know, Mr. McPherson,
I can't just figure you. I can't just see how you get into this. Where are
your credentials, anyway?"
Sam, keeping his eyes upon her face, took a jump into the dark.
"It's this way," he said, "I'm something of an adventurer myself. I fly
the black flag. I come from where you do. I had to reach out my hand and
take what I wanted. I do not blame you in the least, but it just happens
that I saw Colonel Tom Rainey first. He is my game and I do not propose to
have you fooling around. I am not bluffing. You have got to get off him."
Leaning forward, he stared at her intently, and then lowered his voice.
"I've got your record. I know the man you used to live with. He's going to
help me get you if you do not drop it."
Sitting back in his chair Sam watched her gravely. He had taken the odd
chance to win quickly by a bluff and had won. But Luella London was not to
be defeated without a struggle.
"You lie," she cried, half springing from her chair.


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