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The man looked on in silent wonder for a minute, and then strode off to where a group of his men stood talking. "Is yo' daid yit, Miss Bev'ly is de end came?" moaned Aunt Fanny. Beverly could not repress a smile. "I am quite alive, Auntie. These men will not hurt us. They are very nice gentlemen."
He sat down by the window and with the feeling of dismissing them forever retraced slowly and painfully the last few months; the night on the mountains, and Bassett asleep by the fire; the man from the cabin caught under the tree, with his face looking up, strangely twisted, from among the branches; dawn in the alfalfa field, and the long night tramp; the boy who had recognized him in Chicago; David in his old walnut bed, shrivelled and dauntless; and his own going out into the night, with Lucy in the kitchen doorway, Elizabeth and Wallace Sayre on the verandah, and himself across the street under the trees; Beverly, and the illumination of his freedom from the old bonds; Gregory, glib and debonair, telling his lying story, and later on, flying to safety.
The carriage was prepared and the cushions so arranged, with the help of blankets, as to form a kind of couch within the vehicle. Upon this Miranda was tenderly lifted, and when she was told that she should be taken home without delay, and would soon see Oriana, she smiled like a pleased child, and ceased complaining. Beverly stood beside his horse, with his hand clasped in Harold's.
They turned the corner of a shaded path and came out under a green canopy made by four large palms. A man lay underneath, his head pillowed on his arm, his face upturned a man in the sordid prison gray. Virginia Beverly grew giddy, and, brave as she had been so far, for an instant she feared that she was going to faint like an ordinary, stay-at-home girl.
The two thoroughbreds plunged forward with snorts of indignant protest, answered by Apache's very plebian squeal of rage as he shook his bony little head and struck into a gait such as Beverly had never dreamed a horse could strike.
Siringo cautioned me to go to his room and stay there, promising to report as the day advanced. Sponsilier had camped the night before on the main river, and as I crossed to the hotel, his commissary pulled up in front of Wright, Beverly & Co.'s outfitting store.
"Oh, nothing. Just a trifle muddy. Mother can describe her appearance better than we can I reckon," laughed Athol, Jr. The Admiral bent his keen eyes upon the boys. He was a handsome old gentleman and wonderfully well-preserved for his seventy-three years. "And I'll lay a wager you fellows started the ball rolling and Beverly had to brace up and stop it," he nodded. "We didn't!
"How about that, Paul?" demanded Fritz, who could shout louder perhaps than any other boy in Beverly, and often led the hosts as a cheer captain, when exciting games were on with other school teams. "Not a bad idea, I should say," was the reply, as the patrol leader nodded his head in approval. "Suppose you lead off, Fritz, and let it be a concerted yell."
Suddenly Beverly gave a shout, and we saw Little Blue Flower running swiftly from the sloping side of the bluff toward the camp. Behind her stalked the young New-Englander. "I went up to see what she was in such a hurry for to see," he explained, simply.
"One more move like that and the ghost of Sister Anita will walk behind you on every trail you follow as long as your flat feet hit the earth," Beverly declared. "All Indians are afraid of ghosts and I was just too tired to fight any more," he said to me afterward when he told me the story of that hour by the San Christobal River.
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