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Returning to camp, and piling the fire high with fresh wood, the boys secured the ponies, and, led by Lige, struck off over the hack trail. It was a silent group of sad-faced boys that followed the mountain guide, and not a syllable was spoken, save now and then a word of direction from Lige, uttered in a low voice.
Bidding the boys draw down the valley half a mile or so, where he said he would join them, Lige went in the opposite direction, and, picking his way along a ledge, sent the dogs on ahead of him. The hounds soon scented the trail, though on the bare rocks they had considerable difficulty in picking it up.
"I could sell the goods to Texas buyers who are here in the store right now." "Until I get instructions from one of the concern," vowed Captain Lige, "I shall do as I always have done, sir. What is your position here, Mr. Hopper?" "I am manager, I callate." The Captain's fist was heard to come down on the desk. "You don't manage me," he said, "and I reckon you don't manage the Colonel." Mr.
We've got to be white or black, Lige. Nobody's got much use for the grays. And don't let yourself be fooled with Constitutional Union Meetings, and compromises. The time is almost here, Lige, when it will take a rascal to steer a middle course." Captain Lige listened, and he shifted from one foot to the other, and rubbed his hands, which were red.
Sycamore Ridge and Garrison County, excepting a few men like General Ward, who were known as cranks, regarded John as the smartest man in the county smarter even than Lige Bemis. And the whole community, including some of the injured farmers themselves, considered Hendricks a sissy for his scruples, and thought Barclay a shrewd financier for claiming all that he could get.
Nor could the two who listened sound the depth of the pathos the Colonel put into those two words. But the Judge had not fainted. And the brusqueness in his weakened voice was even more pathetic "Tut, tut," said he. "A little heat, and no breakfast." The Colonel already had a bottle of the famous Bourbon day his hand, and Captain Lige brought a glass of muddy iced water. Mr.
"We've got to keep the pace, Lige." To gentle Miss Anne Brinsmade, to Puss Russell of the mischievous eyes, and even to timid Eugenie Renault, the question that burned was: Would he come, or would he not? And, secondarily, how would Virginia treat him if he came? Put our friend Stephen for the subjective, and Miss Carvers party for the objective in the above, and we have the clew.
But the Captain had no sooner seated himself than he shot up again and started out. "Where are you going, Lige?" "To pay off the carriage driver," he said. "Let him wait," said Virginia. "I'm going to the White House in a little while." "What what for?" he gasped. "To see your Black Republican President," she replied, with alarming calmness.
Walter, still pale from his recent experience, but smiling happily, took his place with the rest and ate as heartily as they did of the crisp bacon that Jose had prepared. "Now that you young gentleman are all together, it's a good time to give you some advice," said Lige. "Guess I'm the one who needs it most," laughed Walter. "He's had his already," chuckled Chunky Brown.
He whittled for a few minutes while the harness maker worked, and then sticking his pocket-knife into the chair between his legs, said: "But what I came in to tell you was about Lige Bemis; did you know he's in town? Well, he is. Johnnie Barclay wired him to leave the dump up in the City and come down here, and what for, do you think? 'Tis this.
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