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Briscoe's declaration that a light had flashed the previous night from the interior of the deserted building. But this intrusion was not necessarily of inimical significance, he argued. Tramps, perhaps, or some belated hunter stealing a shelter from the blinding fog, or even petty thieves, finding an unguarded entrance it might mean no more.
The sight of Bayne, the sound of his voice, had poignantly revived the past, and if she had suffered woeful straits from wanton cruelty, she could not deny to herself that she had been consciously, carelessly, and causelessly cruel. In withdrawing herself to the library she had thwarted certain feints of Mrs. Briscoe's designed to throw them together in her hope of their reconciliation.
They realized that any demand of the reward offered must needs bring a counter inquiry concerning the facts of Briscoe's murder, and therefore from the beginning they had little hope that any good result would ensue from the wide publicity and the extended search that his mother and her adviser had inaugurated. The child remained as if caught up in the clouds.
Briscoe's mare skeered an' shied an' backed off'n the bluff that air whut the country-side will think. Whenst his body is fund his head will be mashed ter a jelly by the fall, an' nobody kin say he kem otherwise by his death jes' an accident in drivin' a skittish horse-critter." Whether it was a sound, whether it was a movement, none of the group was accurately aware.
Its sons have excelled in the solider graces, in the throw of the lariat, the manipulation of the esteemed .45, the intrepidity of the one-card draw, and the nocturnal stimulation of towns from undue lethargy; but, hitherto, it had not been famed as a stronghold of æsthetics. Lonny Briscoe's brush had removed that disability.
"Oh, ho oh, ho I see," the old man said, tractable and easily convinced. "I know Lawd! I got reason ter know that Briscoe's dead. I war afeared o' seein' su'thin' oncommon his harnt, or some sech. The idee shuk me powerful. I hev had a fever lately. Lemme sit down I I can't stand up.
Bart got up and washed his face, remembering that he had no luggage with him, not so much as a toothbrush. At the back of his mind, packed up in a corner, was the continuing worry about his father, the horror at Briscoe's ghastly death, the fear of the Lhari; but he slammed the lid firmly on them all. For the moment he was safe.
It's funny to stand here and look at you and realize that I won't even remember you." The gold-glinted eyes blinked rapidly. "Goodbye, Bart. And good luck, Son." Bart took his hand, deeply moved, with the strange sense that this was another death a worse one than Briscoe's. He tried to speak and couldn't. "Well " Raynor's mouth twisted into a wry grin. "Ouch! Careful with those claws.
The man who had fired the fatal shot had seemed hitherto stunned, silent and motionless. Now he exclaimed in self-justification: "Why, I war sure, plumb sure, I thought. We-uns chased that man Dean clear to Briscoe's house last night his horse went lame and he got lost from his posse but when I fund he hed sheltered with Briscoe, we-uns went into the empty hotel ter wait and watch fur him ter go.
"I hardly expected to find you still here at this season," he said to Briscoe, congratulating himself, "but I took the chances. You must lend me a horse." Briscoe's instincts of hospitality were paramount, and he declared that he would not allow the new-comer to depart so summarily.
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