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"Another aunt!" was the outcast's instant inference, as in a moment of accountable preoccupation on the part of the elders she had escaped to her own happy and familiar country the world of out-of-doors where female relatives seldom intruded, and where the lovely things of life were waiting.
Keeping that service steadily before her eyes, she was able to take the outcast's hand, to give her shelter and food, and, better still, to soothe her with that sweet, unobtrusive consolation which only a woman can bestow, which steals by avenues of benevolent cunning into a nature that would repel a direct expression of sympathy. The next morning, however, Deb.
Meanwhile he despatches Jack Moore an' Dan Boggs as a gyard of honor to lead old Glegg to our trystin' place in the New York store. "'An' the first thing you-all do, Jack, says Enright, as Jack an' Dan rides away, 'you get that outcast's guns. "It ain't no more'n time for one drink when Jack an' Dan returns in company of this Glegg. He's a fierce, gray old gent with a eye like a wolf.
He took the outcast's arm, walked him down to Martin's restaurant, seated him at a marble table, placed the bill of fare before him, and said: "Order what you want, friend. Charge it to me, Mr. Martin." "All right, Mr. Blucher," said Martin.
He was hungry; so he sat down, ate his biscuit, drank his water, and rested from the toils of the day. A Sign for the outer World. A Shelter for the Outcast's Head. Tom's Camp and Camp-bed. A Search after Something to vary a too monotonous Diet. Brilliant Success. Tom sat down after his eventful day, and took his evening meal, as has been said. He rested then for some time.
When, however, the ingenious inventor had completed the story artistically, carried us through all the outcast's anxieties and efforts, and shown him triumphant over all difficulties, prosperous, and again in communication with the outer world, the spirit of the iterary trader would not let the finished work alone.
"'Don't I give you four stacks of reds an' a pony, he says, 'to reepair to that murderer an' floor-manage his obsequies? An' don't I promise you eight stacks more when you reports with that outcast's y'ears an' ha'r, as showin' good faith? "'C'rrect; every word, says Curly Ben, lightin' a seegyar an then leanin' his elbows on the bar, a heap onmoved.
Besides, the professor is not in the valley now." The poor outcast's fright was pitiful. "You ain't meanin' that he that he's gone?" he gasped. "Listen, Joe," said Patches quickly. "I can do more for you than he could, even if he were here. You know I am your friend, and I don't want to see a good fellow like you sent to prison for fifteen or twenty years, or, perhaps, hanged.
No pulpit eloquence was ever so moving and so beautiful as this outcast's picture of the first Mormon pilgrimage across the plains, struggling sorrowfully onward to the land of its banishment and marking its desolate way with graves and watering it with tears.
Whatever light or fire might have betokened human habitation was hidden. To push on blindly would be madness; he could only wait for morning. It suited the outcast's lazy philosophy. He crept back again to his bed in the hollow and slept.
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