United States or Western Sahara ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
"Then the Glasgow tale was all lies?" he exclaimed. "It came from this man, too, that's lying dead it's been a put-up thing, d'ye think, Mr. Hugh?" "It's all part of a put-up thing, Chisholm," said I. "Hadn't we better get the man in here, and see what's on him? And what made you come here yourselves? and are there any more of you about?"
"The boiler-riveted nerve of him!" gasped Chiz. "But let him wait!" The sea grew yet rougher. The 323 was bouncing pretty lively, but hanging onto her twenty knots. "And at twenty you let her hang if she rolls her crow's nest under!" said Chisholm to his watch-officer, "and I'll betcher we won't be acting rudder to this bunch going into port!"
Officers and men who have been hunting U-boats for a week or so do not like to linger along the road home; so it was every young captain giving his ship all the steam she could stand and let her belt. It was breaking white water all around when they started. It grew rougher. Chisholm in the 323 was going along at twenty knots when a poker-playing chum came along in his big 1,000-ton destroyer.
A love affair appealed to his listeners, and there was a romance in this one that heightened the effect of it. "But Miss Chisholm can't mean to turn from him now," interrupted Celia. Carroll looked at her meaningly. "No; she turned from him before he sailed. She heard something about him." His companions appeared astonished.
Chisholm, a fiery little Lancer, was in command, with Karri Davis and Wools-Sampson, the two stalwarts who had preferred Pretoria Gaol to the favours of Kruger, as his majors.
There were many who called it the plaza still, especially visitors from along the Rio Grande who came driving their long-horned, lean-flanked cattle northward over the Chisholm Trail. Santa Fé, at its worst, could not have been dustier than this town of Ascalon, and especially the plaza, or public square, in these summer days.
"Mr. Lindsey, solicitor." "Well, my man!" began Mr. Lindsey, taking a careful look at this queer client. "What have you got to say to me?" The prisoner gave Chisholm a disapproving look. "Not going to say a word before the likes of him!" he growled. "I know my rights, guv'nor! What I say, I'll say private to you." "Better leave us, sergeant," said Mr. Lindsey.
"Do as the coxswain tells you down for your lives!" Our chaps who were seated on the thwarts forwards and amidships at once scrambled down on the bottom boards, while we in the sternsheets, including Mr Chisholm himself, squatted on the grating, only old Draper sitting up still at his post aft with both hands holding the loom of the steering oar in a firm grip.
I don't have to educate myself to the point where I know the Chisholm Trail isn't a proper kind of funeral hymn, Ward Warren." Billy Louise glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice instinctively, as we all do when death has come close and stopped. "Jase died last night; that's his grave up there. Isn't it perfectly pitiful? Poor old Marthy was here all solitary alone with him. And Ward!
The business of attending to the 'Home, and finding places for everybody, was not without some pleasant excitement. Mrs Chisholm was sometimes asked to find wives as well as servants; and as a specimen of applications on this delicate head, she gives the following amusing epistle, which is printed as she received it: