United States or Benin ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
He heard the low roar of the flooded brook, the whir of rising grouse ahead, the hoofs of deer on stones, the song of spring birds. He had an eye also for the wan wild flowers in the shaded corners. Presently he led the horse out of the willows into the open and up a low-swelling, long slope of fragrant sage. Here he dropped back to Columbine's side and put his hand upon the pommel of her saddle.
"Then I took up my newspaper to aid my digestion. Every Sunday I read the Gil Blas in the shade by the side of the water. It is Columbine's day, you know; Columbine, who writes the articles in the Gil Blas. I generally put Madame Renard into a rage by pretending to know this Columbine. It is not true, for I do not know her and have never seen her, but that does not matter.
But when they reached the spot where Moore stood Wade could not resist the desire to see the meeting between the lovers. Columbine, being a woman, and therefore capable of hiding agitation, except in moments of stress, met that trying situation with more apparent composure than the cowboy. Moore's long, piercing gaze took the rose out of Columbine's cheeks. "Oh, Wilson!
Rufus is Adam's son, remember, and you can't refuse to sit at table with him." "Leave her alone, Mother!" For the second time Rufus intervened. "I've offended her. My mistake. I'll know better next time." His deep voice was wholly devoid of humour. It was, in fact, devoid of any species of emotion whatever. Yet, oddly enough, the anger died out of Columbine's face as she heard it.
And it struck the hunter significantly that the cowboy should be mounted when an hour back he had left him sitting disconsolately on a log. Moore wanted Columbine to see him first, after all these months of fear and dread, mounted upon his horse. Wade heard Columbine's glad little cry, but he did not turn to look at her then.
"Buster Jack, you're the man who must hear my story.... I'll tell you...." In the aspen grove up the slope of Sage Valley Columbine and Wilson were sitting on a log. Whatever had been their discourse, it had left Moore with head bowed in his hands, and with Columbine staring with sad eyes that did not see what they looked at. Columbine's mind then seemed a dull blank. Suddenly she started.
"I've just been afraid of of things." "My horse is restless," returned Columbine. "Let's get off and talk." So they dismounted. It warmed Wade's gloomy heart to see the woman-look in Columbine's eyes as she watched the cowboy get off and walk. For a crippled man he did very well. But that moment was fraught with meaning for Wade.
"Mélie and I had a morsel also, just a thumb-piece, a mere nothing, for our heart was not in it. "Then I took up my newspaper, to aid my digestion. Every Sunday I read the Gil Blas in the shade like that, by the side of the water. It is Columbine's day, you know, Columbine who writes the articles in the Gil Blas. I generally put Madame Renard into a passion by pretending to know this Columbine.
I came to tell you. It's true oh, it's true!" "But, girl, you said you love me," he declared, transfixing her with dark, accusing eyes. "That's just as terribly true." He softened a little, and something of terror and horror took the place of anger. Just then Wade entered the cabin with his soft tread, hesitated, and then came to Columbine's side.
Kane had become a much-prized possession of Columbine's and lived at the house, where he had things his own way, and always greeted Wade with a look of disdain and distrust. Kane would never forgive the hand that had hurt him. Sampson and Jim and Fox, of course, shared Wade's cabin, and vociferously announced his return. Early in the afternoon Wade went down to the ranch-house.
Word Of The Day