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Driver was nothing but an able crammer; and the moment the lad became interested and diverged from routine, he was choked off because such things would not 'tell. If the 'coach' had any enthusiasm it was for mathematics, and thitherwards Terry's brain was undeveloped.
It had been a long time since I had looked out on such a scene of peaceful tranquillity as this. New York with the hurry and rush of its streets, with the horrors of Terry's morgue, seemed to lie in another continent. But suddenly I was recalled to the present by hearing, almost beneath me, the low shuddering squeak of an opening window.
"Well," said Terry, poking his head from the windows for a view of the ground beneath, "that's all there seems to be here; we might as well go down." We boosted up the two meal bags again, and started back toward the house. Terry's eyes studied his surroundings keenly, whether for the sake of the story he was planning to write or the mystery he was trying to solve, I could only conjecture.
"Yes," said Phillida, spreading her parasol against the slant beams of the declining sun, which illuminated the red brick walls and touched the lofty cornices and the worn stones of the driveway with high lights, while now this and now that distant window seemed to burn with ruddy fire "yes; I couldn't help enjoying Miss Terry's Portia.
I had an experience taking him home which I would not dare write you; and I can hardly realise to this day how I even succeeded in half carrying and half dragging him to our home from away down town. He certainly was the limit. "On Monday the papers were all shrieking for Terry's head wanted him deported or persecuted or prosecuted.
"A little more luck like this," she cried as once more they took to the road, "and Blenham will put one over on us yet!" It was borne in upon Steve that Terry's fears might prove to be only too well founded. The time she had taken to drive to him at his ranch, the time lost in returning to her home and in changing tires and mending a puncture, had been put to better use by Blenham.
The play was drawing near to its climax an attempt to capture the deputy sheriff, tie him to a tree, and leave him bound and gagged alone in the waste. There was a glitter in Terry's eyes, belying the lips which smiled in keeping with the character he presented.
It was Ellen Terry's youngest, freshest voice over again, but with the naivest little ghost of a French accent; and she didn't seem so much to project a phrase at you by the locutory muscles as to smile it to you. Mrs. Burton had, of course, her moments of despair about Eve.
Blackbirds, thrushes, finches, tomtits, came round the doors and windows begging alms, not to mention crows and magpies, who fought with the little birds for the crumbs provided for all, and proved themselves intolerable bullies, much to Terry's disgust.
Confessions, of various sorts, were the order of the day at Laramie during the week that followed this important arrest, and then the fortnight of accusation was at an end. Parsons, the deserter, led off the day after his return to the post under escort of the little squad sent down from Terry's troop to meet him at Cheyenne.
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