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His bowed head, nodding to the pace of the pony, seemed to reiterate in grotesque assertion his spoken word. Ramon's tired body tingled as Dex strode faster. The horse nickered, and an answering nicker came from the night. His own tired pony struck into a trot. Dex stopped. Ramon slid down, and, stumbling forward, he touched a black bulk that lay on the sand.
Don Ramón would stop in his tracks, think a moment, and finally say, in an enigmatic oracular voice: "Very well, tell him to put this in his pipe and smoke it!" Whereupon the henchman, mouth agape, would rush back to the session like a racehorse.
He drove to the boarding house where she lived. “Here you are,” he said gently, “I’ll call you up tomorrow.” Dora looked up for the first time. “O, no!” she plead. “Don’t go off and leave me now. Don’t leave me alone. Take me somewhere, anywhere.… Do anything you want with me.… You’re all I’ve got!” The rest of the winter Ramon spent in an aimlessly pleasant way.
Ramon would, of course, lose no time in following them up, either by a spare boat, which he might have had concealed in the vaulted chamber, or else on his fast, coal-black horse which he might ride across the rocky range, far above the subterranean stream.
By a lucky chance it happened that Don Ramon was at home when Jack reached the house, and the young man was accordingly conducted to the room in which his Spanish friend usually transacted his business. At sight of his visitor Don Ramon flung down his pen and grasped Jack by the hand. "Well," he exclaimed, "what is it?
I am not a coward, you know, but sometimes I am afraid and feel alone in the world. There is Leon, of course; but Leon is no good, is he?" "No, he is no good," replied Marcos. "And, Marcos, do you think it is possible to be in the world and yet be saved; to be quite safe, I mean, for the next world, like Sor Teresa?" "Yes, I do." "Does Uncle Ramon think so?" "Yes," replied Marcos.
Luis, looking back at her curiously, could not even guess at her thoughts, but he thought her too calm and cold for his effervescent nature though he would have liked to tell her that she was beautiful. He did not, because he was afraid of Ramon.
Don Ramon Ramirez, the Alcalde, a youngish man of evident distinction, sat next to Miss Keene, and monopolized her conversation with a certain curiosity that was both grave and childish in its frank trustfulness.
To-day the eyes of mankind were converged on this point just as, in remote centuries, they had been fixed on the war of Troy. "We also have been there," said Ferragut with pride. "The Dardanelles have been frequented for many years by the Catalans and the Aragonese. Gallipoli was one of our cities governed by the Valencian, Ramon Muntaner."
The little command set out apparently for the river home of Don Ramon, distant nearly a hundred miles. After darkness had set in, the captain of the squad cut his already small command in two, sending a lieutenant with four men to proceed by way of Agua Dulce ranch, the remainder continuing on to the river. The captain refused them even pack horse or blanket, allowing them only their arms.
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