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He told me afterward, Neale did, that the man had acted as agent for him some years ago in securing a big tract of wood-land around here, something that had been hard to get hold of." Marise was startled and showed it by a quick lift of her head. She had never known Neale to employ an agent. She looked hard at Eugenia's quiet, indifferent face.
Penn brought her here, and asked my son to show her some of our art treasures, and that is how we were acquainted with her first." "Was she very clever?" Elsie asked. "I don't know enough of art to answer you; but my son says that she was. Andrew is a judge in such matters, and I have often heard him say that Miss Neale had the true gift.
Some voice had called him. He swore it. If he did not make sure he would always be haunted. So with clear, deliberate eyes he surveyed the scene. Then he strode for the ledge of rock. Tufts of sage grew close at its base. He advanced among them. The surface of the rock was uneven and low down a crack showed. At that instant a slow, sobbing, gasping intake of breath electrified Neale.
After Slingerland departed Neale carried with him a memory of the trapper's reluctant and wistful good-bye. It made Neale think where were he and Larry going? Friendships in this wild West were stronger ties than he had known elsewhere. The train arrived at Benton after dark. And the darkness seemed a windy gulf out of which roared yellow lights and excited men.
I'm both bad and dishonest." "Ruby, I wouldn't call you dishonest," returned Neale, bluntly. "Bad yes. And wild! But if you had a chance?" "No," she said. "You're both slated for hell. What's the sense of it?" "I don't see that you're slated for heaven," retorted Ruby. "Wal, I shore say echo," drawled Larry, as he rolled a cigarette. "Pard, you're drunk this heah minnit." "I'm not drunk.
"Lass, sight of you sort of makes me young agin but Allie, those are not the happy eyes I remember." "I am very unhappy," she whispered. "Wal, if thet ain't too bad! Shore it's natural you'd be downhearted, losin' Neale thet way." "It's not all that," she murmured, and then she told him. "Wal, wal!" ejaculated the trapper, stroking his beard in thoughtful sorrow. "But I reckon thet's natural, too.
But they got no further information from either Betty Fosdyke or Wallington Neale. Neither had ever heard of Mr. Frederick Hollis, of Gray's Inn. Betty was certain, beyond doubt, that he was no relation of the missing bank-manager: she had the whole family-tree of the Horburys at her finger-ends, she declared: no Hollis was connected with even its outlying twigs.
"Oh, hell!" burst out Neale as he strained hard on a knot. Again he looked at his lineman, this time with something warmer than curiosity in his glance. Larry Red King was tall, slim, hard as iron, and yet undeniably graceful in outline a singularly handsome and picturesque cowboy with flaming hair and smooth, red face and eyes of flashing blue. From his belt swung a sheath holding a heavy gun.
"One good jerk, and it's all over!" proclaimed Agnes. But this seemed horrible to Dot. The tender little gum was sore, and the nerve telegraphed a sense of acute pain to Dot's mind whenever she touched the tooth. One good jerk, indeed! "I tell you what to do," said Neale to the little girl. "You tie the other end of that waxed-end to a doorknob, and sit down and wait.
And just within he came face to face with the housekeeper, Mrs. Carswell. Mrs. Carswell had kept house for Mr. John Horbury for some years Neale remembered her from boyhood. He had always been puzzled about her age. Of late, since he knew more of grown-up folk, he had been still more puzzled. Sometimes he thought she was forty; sometimes he was sure she could not be more than thirty-two or three.
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