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Updated: June 21, 2025
We were challenged by the guard, and caused sufficient amazement when we appeared in the hall before the master, who was a bachelor of fifty. "'Sblood, Nick Temple!" he cried, "what are you doing here with that big Congo for a dog? The sight of him frightens me." The negro, indeed, was a sight to frighten one. The black mud of the swamps was caked on him, and his flesh was torn by brambles.
The Overland pulled out, flirting its tail at me contemptuously. A small, battered-looking car, grayed and caked with white alkali dust, glided alongside, and from under its swaying and disreputable top emerged someone I knew. Not individually. But by many campfires of the past I had foregathered with him and his kind. Same old Arizona, I repeated to myself.
Old gentlemen, too, formed the pleasant habit of dropping in, beguiled by the artful Author, waited upon son-like by his secretary, foregathered with as kith and kin by the Englishman, mint-juleped by the three of them, enchanted by Alicia, and teaed and caked and beloved by me. Even our cats adored them.
With his face blackened by smoke and caked with blood from innumerable little cuts and scratches, his hands grimy and almost raw, and his clothes torn in a hundred places, Charley could hardly have been recognized by his own mother. "How far across the valley does this fire extend?" asked the forester. "You are almost at the end of it, sir," replied Charley.
Her drenched skirt clung about her, rent to tatters, and one of her little shoes was caked with mire. The other gaped open. "How far have we gone?" she asked. "About a league," answered Nasmyth quietly. "I think we could make the inlet in another two hours. That is, if the beach isn't very much rougher." The girl leaned against a branch wearily.
But I would not have thought there was such good earth under them; the ground always seemed caked so hard." "So it were, my lady," said Susan, colouring prettily. "It were Mr. Kenny. He has worked so 'ard. Him an' Georgie've been puttin' in bulbs no end these last few days, when he can spare an half-hour from his horses.
Driver was here, sitting in that very chair you are sitting in now." Mr. Bodfish pursed up his lips and made another note. Then he took a spill from the fireplace, and lighting a candle, went slowly and carefully up the stairs. He found nothing on them but two caked rims of mud, and being too busy to notice Mr. Negget's frantic signalling, called his niece's attention to them.
The heart was big within her, and the terrible loneliness of age spread through her like a rising icy mist. She watched him, filling all his wants. His hair was untidy and his boots were caked with blackish mud. He moved with a restless, swaying motion that somehow blanched her cheek and sent a miserable shivering down her back. It reminded her of trees. His eyes were very bright.
Its top, the main square of the settlement, was of baked clay, beaten hard by thousands of naked feet. Crossing it by day was an adventure. The air that swept it was the breath of a blast-furnace. Everett found a room over the shop of a Portuguese trader. It was caked with dirt, and smelled of unnamed diseases and chloride of lime.
Layers of dust almost completely concealed the original colour of the caked and matted hide of Luke Tweezy's well-conditioned horse. It was evident that Luke Tweezy had come from afar. In common with most range riders Racey Dawson possessed an automatic eye to detail.
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