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Updated: June 5, 2025
The sleighing could not be better. Saturday the Ninth Dinky-Dunk's Christmas present came to-day, over two weeks late. He had never mentioned it, and I had not only held my peace, but had given up all thought of getting a really-truly gift from my lord and master. They brought it out from Buckhorn, in the bobsleigh, all wrapped up in old buffalo-robes and blankets and tarpaulins.
Well, that shack wasn't quite what I expected! But I mustn't run ahead of my story, Matilda Anne, so I'll go back to where Dinky-Dunk and I got off the side-line "accommodation" at Buckhorn, with our traps and trunks and hand-bags and suitcases. And these had scarcely been piled on the wooden platform before the station-agent came running up to Duncan with a yellow sheet in his hand.
Then I put the buckhorn extinguisher over the candle and dove into the feather bed as gleefully as a child on Christmas Eve. I expected to immediately fall asleep, but there is where I made a mistake; my mind would not cease working, the wheels in my head kept buzzing and would not stop.
Determined to maintain his authority at all hazards, he prepared for the worst, and provided himself with weapons such as he deemed would be the most effectual, if he should be compelled to the dreadful necessity of a personal conflict with his crew. A pointed and two-edged blade, four inches long, was fixed in a rough buckhorn handle, with a groove for the thumb across the top.
He was very quiet and thoughtful all evening. Before I fell asleep he told me that on Monday the two of us would team in to Buckhorn and get a wagon-load of supplies. Saturday the Twenty-eighth I have got my cayuse. Dinky-Dunk meant him for a surprise, but the shyest and reddest-headed cowboy that ever sat in a saddle came cantering along the trail, and I saw him first.
"He's all right now. I ain't afraid of him so long as he ain't got his knife." "Well, say," Marcus called to her as she went down stairs, "if he gets funny again, you just yell out; I'LL hear you. I won't let him hurt you." Marcus went into his room again and resumed his wrangle with the refractory boots. His eye fell on Zerkow's knife, a long, keen-bladed hunting-knife, with a buckhorn handle.
Dick gazed at the silver, the map, the daggers and the skull with mingled surprise and horror. How had those things come there, and what was the mystery concerning them? Coming closer, he picked up several of the dollars and examined them. All were dated thirty to forty years back. Then he picked up the dagger, a beautiful affair of polished steel with a curiously wrought handle of buckhorn.
From his belt protruded the buckhorn handle of a sheath-knife, and the bright, polished head of an Indian tomahawk. The lasso was nowhere to be seen. When the boys had noted these points, they glanced at the face of the new-comer. It was a handsome face, and might have made a favorable impression on them, had it not been for the haughty glances which its owner directed toward them as he rode up.
I had just the faintest of suspicions, however, that the fair Peter might never return from Buckhorn, though I tried to solace myself with the thought that the motor-car and the beaver-lined lap-robe would at least remain with me. But my fears were groundless.
It was built against a neighboring house in such a fashion that the side with only one window in each story, gave upon the street, and the front looked out upon a yard where rose-bushes and buckhorn were growing along the wall on either side. On the farther side, opposite the house, stood a shed, a roof over two brick arches. Inside the house there were two rooms on each floor.
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