United States or Sint Maarten ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
"The ol' man cayn't spare any more," the rustler explained. "He had to hustle Steve and his gang outa their blankets to go help Bob Hart. They say Hart's in a heluva bad way. The fire's jumped the trail-check and is spreadin' over the country. He's runnin' another trail farther back."
One that runs along over the earth. With an underground fire, now, it's a difficult job to deal. What's one to do, when the earth's on fire for a whole yard's depth? There's only one means of safety digging ditches, and do you suppose that's easy? But an overground fire's nothing. It only scorches the grasses and burns the dry leaves! The forest will be all the better for it.
You make most of the men I know seem very unenterprising. It frightens me. Perhaps I oughtn't to let you jump the fence so easily." "You won't let Phil lock you up for a while?" "No.... Mustn't we be going?" "Thank you for letting the outlaw come to your party. The fire's out. Come." With the quenching of the fire they were left in smothering darkness. "Where do we go?" she worried.
If it's Doonha, it means that the sepoy barracks and all the stores are burning there's nothing else there that would make all that flame!" "There are two companies of the Thirty-third there, too." "Yes, sir, but they're under canvas; tents would blaze up, but they'd die down again in a minute. That fire's steady and growing bigger!" "It's the sepoy barracks, then!" "Seems so to me, sir!"
"Neither!" shouted one of his comrades. "He'll be alive again in a week; burning's the only permanency for him." The gangs from all the outlying camps burst out in a thunder-crash of approval, and went struggling and surging toward the prisoner, and closed around him, shouting, "Fire! fire's the ticket!"
It's late, Bertie, and the fire's out, and I'm shivering; and you, I'm very sure, are heartily weary of my gossip and my heresies, so adieu until my next. II. HOME, 10th April, 1881. Well, my dear Bertie, here I am again in your postbox. It's not a fortnight since I wrote you that great long letter, and yet you see I have news enough to make another formidable budget.
He lifted his clasped hands in passionate appeal. There was a picture opposite a gem of Raphael's the Man of Sorrows fainting under the weight of the cross, and the fire's shine playing upon it seemed to light the pallid features with a derisive smile. "The mercy you showed to others, the same shall be shown to you. Tiger heart, you were merciless in the days gone by.
So, five minutes later, when all her clothing save her heavy outer skirt, had been quite dried there by the fire, and that same fire's abounding warmth had sent his temperature up to high discomfort mark, they sat down, side by side, upon a log, the spelling-book between them, and he began the pleasant task of teaching her her A, B, Cs. "'A," said he, "is this one at the very start."
"All right. Suppose I set fire to a carpenter shop with a match, what will happen to that carpenter shop?" "She'll burn up." "And suppose I set fire to this pyramid with a candle will she burn up?" "Of course she won't." "All right. Now the fire's the same, both times. WHY does the shop burn, and the pyramid don't?" "Because the pyramid CAN'T burn." "Aha! and A HORSE CAN'T FLY!"
"Seems to be raining still," I began after a little. "Yes. It's a wet spell." He stared out of the door, smoothing his mustache. It was again I that spoke. "What time is it?" He brooded over his watch. "Twelve minutes to seven." I rose and stood drawing on my clothes. "The fire's out," said he; and he assembled some new sticks over the ashes. Presently he looked round with a cup.
Word Of The Day