ancholy stretches of vacant fields he had carried in his blanket roll when he came to Cottonwood. Now he wrapped them and addressed them to his sister, with a letter for Malvina, directing her to post the packet in the event of his death.
That done, he polished his boots, put on his black coat, and prepared himself to quit this life with dignity and decency, according to the way that he had lived it. He was brushing his hat by the window when he saw Fannie ride by, just catching an identifying glimpse of her in the angling view that his window gave of the street.
He thrust the papers, which he wanted them to find on his dead body if he should fall, into the breast pocket of his coat and hurried down-stairs. When he reached the street, Fannie was half way to Uncle Boley's and, coming from the opposite direction a little way beyond her, Dee Winch, turning his head from side to side as he rode, as if searching for somebody among the people on the walks.
It was all to make a show and a parade of it beforehand, this riding around on the pretense that he had to seek him out, thought Texas, as suddenly resentful over the little gun-slinger's behavior as if he had slapped him in the face. Winch must have known where to look for him all the time. Even if his messenger had failed to return Hart-
