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He had the expression of a man who hardly believed what he saw. "Did you have any trouble gettin' away, without tellin' about me?" he asked. "No. But I sure had a job with those packs," she replied. "You must be a wonder with a horse." As far as vanity was concerned Lucy had only one weakness and he had touched upon it. "Well, Dad and Holley and Farlane argue much about me.
But the distance was long, the glass not perfect; he could not trust his sight. Suddenly that sight dimmed. "Holley, I can't make out nothin'," he complained. "Take the glass. Give me a line on Lucy's mount." "Boss, I don't need the glass to see that she's up on a HOSS," replied Holley, as he took the glass. He leveled it, adjusted it to his eyes, and then looked long. Bostil grew impatient.
Slone caught the kindly interest and intent of the rider, and it warmed him as Brackton's disapproval had alienated him. "Wal, I reckon I'd better tell you," drawled Holley, as Slone hesitated, "thet Lucy wants to know IF you beat up Joel an' WHY you did." "Holley! Did she ask you to find out?" "She sure did.
Holley calculates that it equals about 150 tons of bituminous coal, such as is found in the Pittsburg region. In England the favorite source of phosphates of lime is the "Cambridge coprolites." These are small, hard, gray nodules, obtained by washing a stratum, of about one foot in thickness, lying in the upper greensand formation in Cambridgeshire.
"An' whoever he was grabbed Lucy up made off with her?" asked Bostil. "Plain as if we seen it done!" exclaimed Holley. There was fire in the clear, hawk eyes. "Cordts!" cried Bostil, hoarsely. "Mebbe mebbe. But thet ain't my idee.... Come on." Holley went so fast he almost ran, and he got ahead of Bostil. Finally several hundred yards out in the sage he halted, and again dropped to his knees.
Its frontispiece was a portrait of one Eliza Slocumb Holley, founder of the school, and on its back cover it bore the vignetted photograph of a very pretty graduate, in apron and cap, with her broom and feather duster. In between these two pictures were pages and pages of information, dozens of pictures.
Bostil tried to look astounded. "Hell! ... It's the Colorado! She's boomin'!" "Reckon it's hell all right for Creech," replied Holley. "Boss, why didn't you fetch them hosses over?" Bostil's face darkened. He was a bad man to oppose to question at times. "Holley, you're sure powerful anxious about Creech. Are you his friend?" "Naw! I've little use fer Creech," replied Holley. "An' you know thet.
To my dearly-beloved friends, the members of the American National Spiritual Assembly. My dear and precious fellow-workers: The three communications dated November 19, November 22 and December 22, which I have recently received from that indefatigable servant of Bahá’u’lláh, my esteemed spiritual brother, Mr. Holley, have given me great satisfaction and have cheered and sustained me in my work.
Bostil shook his huge frame, and he rubbed his eyes as if they had become dim, and he stared again. "Who's thet up on him?" "Slone. I never seen his like on a hoss," replied Holley. "An' what's he packin'?" queried Bostil, huskily. Plain to all keen eyes was the glint of Lucy Bostil's golden hair. But only Holley had courage to speak. "It's Lucy! I seen thet long ago."
He crawled through the sage all around the trampled space. Suddenly his heart seemed to receive a stab. He had found prints of Lucy's boots in the soft earth! And he leaped up, wild and fierce, needing to know no more. He ran back to his cabin. He never thought of Bostil, of Holley, of anything except the story revealed in those little boot-tracks.
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