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The party of rough fellows, farmers and cowboys, went along with the wagon, and before they had gone three miles they took the prisoners from the farmer and strung them up in some timber along the roadside; so when the farmer reached Crabtree he had no prisoners, and he told a harrowing tale to Fred of how the men had taken the prisoners from him and strung them up.
They turned and watched her drawing nearer, and before she had quite reached them Kerr stretched out his hand as if to help her over a last rough place, and drew her toward him and held her beside him with his fingers lightly clasped around her wrist. She saw that he looked pale, worn, as he had not been last night, and, what struck her most strangely, angry.
At last he was brought up sharp, nearly running his face into a rough clay wall, and above him he saw a trap-door. Here, then, was his exit. The door was only just above his head; he pushed at it with his hands; it gave not at all. After all, one would expect a trap-door to be bolted. He wondered if it would be of any use to knock. Did it give on to a street, a courtyard, or a house?
Anthony turned in his saddle, and saw a great stir and movement, and then horses' and men's heads moving slowly down over the seething surface of the crowd, as if swimming in a rough sea.
The little log-house presented a neat and comfortable appearance, both within and without. Indiana had woven a handsome mat of bass bark for the floor; Louis and Hector had furnished it with seats and a table, rough, but still very respectably constructed, considering their only tools were a tomahawk, a knife, and wooden wedges for splitting the wood into slabs.
As I was standing here full of admiration, I perceived, at the entrance of the cavern, a man of a rude and rough appearance, who asked me if I wished to see the Peak, and the echo strongly reverberated his coarse voice.
"Spoken like a good old fighting man," said the chief. "Now, then, speaking with your experience, what is best for me to do?" "Set the men to build up rough walls with the stones, twice as strong as you have already." "Good! Go on," cried the chief, while Marcus stood listening with his lips apart, and quivering with excitement the while. "Then sit fast and wait." "Without supplies?"
The sight of Dan Kirtland's low, brown cottage, the squalid babies in the doorway, the fishing-nets, Vesty's last week's cotton gown swinging on the line, some humiliating, harsh memories of her own, spurred her on, with a sigh. "She is fire, thank God! It will be all right," she said. Vesty drew back into the woods. She pressed her forehead hard against the rough bark of a tree.
"I didn't want to play myself, but I wasn't going to do a rotten trick like getting other fellows away from the team." "No, I know." "It was rotten enough, really, not playing myself." "Oh, no. Beastly rough luck having to leave Wrykyn just when you were going to be captain, and come to a small school like this."
"Here's th' rough plan of the claim and here's Montresor's letter that was found after he was buried you know, Sam." "What letter is that, Father?" wondered Polly. "We never told you about it, as it wouldn't have helped any one then, but now you shall read it." "Where was it found?" "In the pocket of an old hunting coat when we tried to find some clew to his family and home address.
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