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"On the Firing Line"

He would begin with that.
One resolution led to the next. Only two days after he had
determined upon the reception, he ordered Kruger Bobs to saddle the
gray broncho and to attend him upon The Nig. Then, when the noon sun
lay warm over the city, he mounted and, with Kruger Bobs behind him,
he rode slowly down Adderley Street to the water front, and turned
eastward to the home of the Dents.
The wide veranda and the great white pillars seemed like home to
him, in all truth. That house had been the scene of some of his best
hours, as of his worst ones, and his heart pounded madly against his
ribs as he caught sight of its familiar outlines. Then he drew in
his breath sharply and bore down hard in his stirrups, while his
face went white to the lips. From the western end of the veranda a
girlish figure had risen, halted for a moment with the sun beating
full upon her vivid hair; then, heedless of the distant riders, it
had turned and disappeared within the doorway.
The maid's face brightened, as she met Weldon at the door. "But Mrs.
Dent is not at home," she said, with honest regret in her voice.
"She has gone out of town."
Weldon controlled his own voice as best he might.


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