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Updated: May 27, 2025
He read to her while she sewed rags for a new sitting-room carpet, and they played dominoes and checkers together in the twilight before supper time, suppers that were a feast to the boy, after Mrs. Buck's cookery. Anthony brought his violin sometimes of an evening, and Almira Berry, the next neighbor on the road to the Mills, would drop in and join the little party.
Yet the talk he desired to have with this youngster inspired an ill-flavor. "If folks want to answer questions ther' ain't no need to ask 'em." Buck's philosophy interested the other, and he nodded. "Just so. That's how it is with me now. I want to tell you what you've never asked. You'll see the reason presently." Buck waited. His whole manner suggested indifference.
Travis waited for him to enlarge on that suggestion. Tsoay was one of the youngest of their group, Buck's own cross-cousin and near-brother. "It is well," Buck explained, "that we learn this land, and it has always been our custom that the younger walk in the footprints of the older. Also, not only should trails be learned, but also men." Travis caught the thought behind that.
While I walked I wondered hard whether the light had glinted upon the tip of a buck's horn in that patch of green bush with the sweet-smelling white flowers a night or two ago. Or had it perchance fallen upon the point of the assegai of some spy who was watching my movements! In that event yonder column of smoke and the horrible cries that preceded it were easy to explain.
Let him scout ahead of the party, taking the coyotes with him. Stay away from the camp for a while and speak small until the people on Buck's stairway were more closely united. "I go in the morning," Travis agreed. He could slip away tonight, but just now he could not force himself away from the fire, from the companionship. "You might take Tsoay with you," Buck continued.
It only remained for the husbandman to gaze regretful and impotent upon his handiwork. His hand had planted the seedling, and now already the wilderness was beyond all control. Something of this was in the Padre's mind as he sat in his doorway awaiting Buck's return for the night. The dusk was growing, and already the shadows within the ancient stockade were black with approaching night.
Let me tell you," she went on as T. A. Buck's demeanor grew more bristlingly antagonistic, "there are thousands and thousands of women up in Minnesota, and Wisconsin, and Michigan, and Oregon, and Alaska, and Nebraska, and Dakota who are thankful to retire every night protected by one long, thick, serviceable flannel nightie, and one practical hot-water bag.
Stratton whirled swiftly to catch a flashing vision of a tall Mexican creeping toward him, a long, slim knife glittering in his upraised hand. The fellow was so close that another step would bring him within striking distance, and without hesitation Buck's finger pressed the trigger. The hammer fell with an ominous, metallic click.
Already Buck's head overhung the precipice, his face a dark, strangled red. Flinging the revolver from her, Mary rushed forward and began to beat Lynch wildly with her small, clenched fists. But she might as effectually have tried to move a rooted tree, and with a strangled cry, she wound her fingers in his coarse black hair and strove with all her strength to drag Lynch back.
Then he stooped, picked it up himself, and with two strokes cut Buck's traces. Hal had no fight left in him. Besides, his hands were full with his sister, or his arms, rather; while Buck was too near dead to be of further use in hauling the sled. A few minutes later they pulled out from the bank and down the river.
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