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If I ever see you around here again I won't wait for Ben to shoot you!" Ferguson hesitated, a deep red mounting over the scarf at his throat. Then his voice rose, tingling with regret. "There ain't any use of me sayin' anything now, ma'am," he said. "You wouldn't listen. I'm goin' away, of course, because you want me to.
Ferguson strode into the manager's office and dropped heavily into a chair beside the desk. He was directly in front of the open door and looking up he could see the men down at the bunkhouse congregated around the bodies of Leviatt and Tucson. The end that he had been expecting for the past two days had come had come as he knew it must come. He had not been trapped as they had trapped Rope Jones.
Certainly it was no wonder that the little world of upper Canada opened its eyes at such a Star Chamber sentence as this, pronounced in the year of Grace 1828. It seemed as if the whirligig of time had brought back the days of Bartemus Ferguson and The Niagara Spectator.
Grumbling, James went into the kitchen, mounted a chair, and began banging away at the pipe, very much after the fashion of Bunner's "Culpepper Ferguson." The pipe acted piggishly. James grew determined. One end slipped in and then the other slipped out, half a dozen times. James lost patience and became angry; and in his anger he overreached himself. The chair slid back.
Ferguson, that veteran conspirator, affirmed that Fraser had been employed by the duke of Queensberry to decoy some persons whom he hated into a conspiracy, that he might have an opportunity to effect their ruin; and by the discovery establish his own credit, which began to totter. Perhaps there was too much reason for this imputation.
As the vote was about to be taken W. O. Ferguson of Eureka county announced that he would vote against the ratification; that he was opposed to having the people of this State telling the women of the Union whether or not they should vote and that he came to Carson City especially to vote against the resolution.
Ferguson, the curate, miss, he's here, if he would do." Maud brightened. "He would do splendidly. Will you ask him if I can see him for a moment?" "Very well, miss. What name, please?" "He won't know my name. Will you please tell him that a lady wishes to see him?" "Yes, miss. Won't you step in?" The front door closed behind Maud. She followed the maid into the drawing-room.
Let us use the time and faculties which God has left us, and trust futurity to his guidance. Amen. This is the day of St. Boswell's Fair. That watery saint has for once had a dry festival. July 19. Wrote a page this morning, but no more. Corrected proofs however, and went to Selkirk to hold Sheriff Court; this consumed the forenoon. Colonel and Miss Ferguson, with Mr. and Mrs.
Parr's benefactions was included, and certain veiled paragraphs concerning his financial operations. Mr. Ferguson, Mr. Plimpton, Mr. Constable, did not escape, although they, too, had refused to be interviewed.... The article brought to the parish house a bevy of reporters who had to be fought off, and another batch of letters, many of them from ministers, in approval or condemnation.
If you'd been minded to help Ferguson a little, instead of actin' like a fool because you've thought he's took a shine to Mary Radford, we might have been further along with them rustlers. As it is, Ferguson's been playin' a lone hand. But he claims to have been doin' somethin'. He ain't been in the habit of blowin' his own horn, an' I reckon we can rely on what he says.
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