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Updated: May 13, 2025
The fact is, that ladies'-maids are only numb hands in all that relates to hunting, and though Juliana knew that his lordship was up, she thought he had gone to have his hunt before breakfast, just as the young gentlemen in the last place she lived in used to go and have a bathe. Baggs, we may add, was a married man, and Juliana and he had not had much conversation.
A murmur of attention, of surprised amusement, arose from the porch; then, as his voice gained in bigness, flowed rich and thrilling and without effort from his deep powerful lungs, the murmur died away. The song rose toward its end; Harry Baggs saw nothing but the window above him; he put all the accumulated feeling, the longing, of the past miserable years into his ending.
However, the bare suspicion that the same stranger who had called already might be watching the house now, was enough to startle me very seriously, and to suggest the absolute necessity of occupying no more precious time in paying attention to the vagaries of Mrs. Baggs' nerves.
"Next time you'll take a railroad man's word, I guess. Where are they?" he added, looking apprehensively around. "What have they done?" "They have stolen your engine," answered Scott calmly. He pointed to the river bed. Baggs stared; then running along the bank he looked up-stream and down and came back sputtering. "Why what how what in time! Where's the engine?"
A surprisingly passionate argument arose between bidders; personalities and threats emerged. Janin said: "Listen! That is the world into which musicians are born; it is against such uproar we must oppose our delicate chords on such hearts." His speech rambled into French and a melancholy silence. "It's stopped for a little," Baggs reminded him.
The unfortunate man had probably fixed it in his mind that a ride from Tower W to Deep Creek in sixteen hours was a physical impossibility. "Stay here? Sure! I want you to stay," said Baggs bluffly. "Looks to me like I seen you down at Crawling Stone, ain't I?" he asked of Karg. Karg was lighting a cigarette. "I used to mark at the Dunning ranch," he answered, throwing away his match.
"Another song," he insisted; "like the last. Don't try any cheap show." The boy responded immediately; his serious voice rolled out again in a spontaneous tide. "'Hard times," Harry Baggs sang; "'hard times, come again no more." The old man said: "You think you have a great voice, eh? All you have to do to take the great roles is open your mouth!"
Baggs, to the mind of youth, exhibited ogre-like qualities. They knew him as a deadly enemy, for which reason there was no part of the works that possessed a greater or more horrid fascination than the hackling shop. To have entered the den of Mr. Baggs marked a Bridetown lad as worthy of highest respect in his circle. But proofs were always demanded of such a high achievement.
His victim had pulled an engine throttle too long to show the white feather, but he was dying by the time he had dragged a revolver from his pocket. Du Sang did the killing alone. At least, Flat Nose, who alone saw all of the murder, afterward maintained that he did not draw because he had no occasion to, and that Baggs was dead before he, Karg, had finished his cigarette.
The activities shifted to a shed and barn, where a horse and three sorry cows and farming implements were sold. Janin and Harry Baggs followed, but there was no opportunity for further melody; larger sums were here involved; the concentration of the buyers grew painful. The boy's throat burned; it was strained, and his voice grew hoarse.
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