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Brit's voice was very weak, but Lorraine jumped as though a trumpet had bellowed suddenly in her ear. "Swan he's all right. But don't go telling all yuh know and some besides. He ain't Sawtooth, but he might let out " "I know. I won't, dad. It was that horse " Brit turned his face to the wall as if no more was to be said on the subject.
A fourth is in Edward Baines, History of the ... county ... of Lancaster, ed. of 1836, I, 604, and is taken from Brit. Mus., Harleian MSS., cod. 6854, f. 26 b. A fifth is in the Bodleian, Rawlinson MSS., D, 399, f. 211. Wright's source we have not in detail, but the other four, while differing slightly as to punctuation, spelling, and names, agree remarkably well as to the details of the story.
It was a long trail to Sugar Spring, and from there up Spirit Canyon the climb was so tedious and steep that Brit took a full hour for the trip, resting the team often because they were soft from the new grass diet and sweated easily.
He must be coming," she said. "Where's Lone at?" Brit moved restlessly on the pillow and twisted his face at the pain. "Lone isn't back, either." "He ain't? Where'd he go?" Lorraine came to the bedside and, lifting Brit's head carefully, arranged the pillow as she knew he liked it. "I don't know where he went," she said dully. "He rode off just after dinner. Do you want your supper now?
With Lorraine's assistance he carried Brit into Thurman's cabin, laid him, stretcher and all, on the bed and hurried out to catch and harness the team of work horses. Lorraine waited beside her father, helpless and miserable. There was nothing to do but wait, yet waiting seemed to her the one thing she could not do. "Raine!"
Ethelbert, already well disposed towards the Christian faith, assigned him a habitation in the Isle of Thanet, and soon after admitted him to a conference. Polychron. lib. 5. Chron. I. cap. 2 Hunting. lib. 3. Brompton, p. 729 Parker Antiq. Brit. Chron. H. Hunting. lib. 3.
You can't run a ranch without water. And when he'd took the case up and up till it got to the Supreme Court, and he stood some show of winnin' out he had an accident. He was drug to death by his horse." Brit stooped and opened the stove door, seeking a live coal; found none and turned again to Lorraine, shaking his pipe at her for emphasis.
Whenever Lorraine looked full into his face he would grin at her as though nothing was wrong, and when they came to a clear-running stream he emptied the water bottle, dipped up a little fresh water, added brandy, and lifted Brit's head very gently and gave him a drink. Brit opened his eyes and looked at Swan, and from him to Lorraine, but he did not say anything.
They knit up their hair, which is very long, with a roll of ostrich feathers, and usually carry their arrows wrapped up brit, that they may not encumber them, they being made with reeds, headed with flint, and, therefore, not heavy. Their bows are about an ell long.
He seemed bottled-up, somehow, and bitter. She caught his hand and held it, feeling its roughness between her two soft palms. "Dad, I've got to tell you. I feel trapped, somehow. Did his horse have a white face, dad?" "Yes, he's a blaze-faced roan. Why?" Brit moved uncomfortably, but he did not take his hand away from her. "What do you know about it, Raine?"
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