But every evening, when I look out at the sunset hills,
with the purple along the valleys, I think that he must be out there
somewhere, going toward the highest ranges. If I were up in that
country I know that I could find him." "Never in a thousand years."
"Why?"
"Because he's on the trail--"
"On the trail?"
"Of McGurk."
She started.
"What is this man McGurk? I hear of him on all sides. If one of the
men rides a bucking horse successfully, someone is sure to say: 'Who
taught you what you know, Bud--McGurk?' And then the rest laugh. The
other day a man was pointed out to me as an expert shot. 'Not as fast
as McGurk,' it was said, 'but he shoots just as straight.' Finally I
asked someone about McGurk. The only answer I received was: 'I hope
you never find out what he is.' Tell me, what is McGurk?"
Wilbur considered the question gravely.
He said at last: "McGurk is--hell!"
He expanded his statement: "Think of a man who can ride anything that
walks on four feet, who never misses with either a rifle or a
revolver, who doesn't know the meaning of fear, and then imagine that
man living by himself and fighting the rest of the world like a lone
wolf.
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