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Updated: May 24, 2025
But probably the 'ghost' won't show up again now for a month or so?" "On the contrary, it is more likely to return soon," clicked Alex. "That has been the way every time so far three or four appearances in succession. So you had better prepare for business at once." Alex's prediction was realized two nights later.
For a brief space, while only the rain on the roof broke the silence, the foreigner apparently looked directly at the boy on the floor, and Alex's heart seemed literally to stand still. But at last, after what appeared an interminable time, the man again turned, and withdrew, and with a sigh of relief Alex heard him say to those below, "Only de wind, dat's all."
At the next remark, however, he sharply gripped Alex's arm. "What fall has the stream there?" "Forty feet, and the lake back of it is nearly a mile long, and a half mile wide." The rumble of the train again drowned the voices of the two men, but Jack had heard enough. "It's old Uncle Joe Potter his farm," he said with indignation. "Now I understand.
And he a spy! A boy spy!" Rapidly he gave the stranger a distorted account of the strike at Bixton, and Alex's part in his final discomfiture. The cowman listened closely. "Is that so, boy?" he demanded. "Partly. But it was not a strike. It was a simple piece of murderous revenge against one man, the section-foreman. And I helped spoil it." "Good.
The oiler darted back and wrested it from Alex's hand. As he whirled about to fire, Alex grasped his arm. "No! Wait! Look!" he exclaimed. "The Indian is after him!" Turning, the oiler saw the Indian, with his own and one of the other ponies, storming across the ground in pursuit of the runner. Silently they watched.
It seemed to her at once the charm and weakness of her grandfather's character. She was impatient; she wanted to know what was the right path for her to take, not to waste years in finding it. Mrs. Russell sometimes laughingly declared that Alex's most intimate friends were Miss Virginia Wilbur and Miss Sarah Leigh, and it was true she often sought their society.
"It's your weakness, you know, to get mixed up in any excitement that's going on within a mile of you." To Alex's disappointment hour after hour passed, however, and brought no further word, either of the pursued, or the pursuers. Finally, just before midnight, hearing Zeisler "come in" on the wire to report the passing of a freight, Alex reached for the key, determined to inquire.
Them ain't artificial flowahs, honey. They's made of papah." Again an amused smile stole out of the corner of Lloyd's eye to answer the gleam of mischief in Alex's. Not for anything would she have Aunt Jane think that she was laughing, so her eyes were bent demurely on her roses again. Again Bernice, leaning forward, intercepted the glance and misinterpreted it.
Again I saw the group around the silent figure on the grass, and again, as had happened at the grave, I heard Alex's voice, tense and triumphant: "Then we've got them," he said. Only, in my dreams, he said it over and over until he seemed to shriek it in my ears. I wakened early, in spite of my fatigue, and lay there thinking. Who was Alex? I no longer believed that he was a gardener.
The operator sprang to the telephone, and in intense silence the party waited. He got the number. "Hello! Is Flanagan there? "Say, is there any oil across the river at the Park station? "For Heavens sake, don't ask questions! Is there?" "Yes; he says there's a half barrel in the shed behind," reported the operator. Alex's hand shot back to the key. At the first dot he paused.
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