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Updated: May 2, 2025
I made a splendid heave, an' sent it right in at the window. The old man caught it. "`Make fast to a bed-post, I roared, `or a table, or chest o' drawers anything big. "He understood me, I could see, and presently he looked over the window an' shook his head. Then I could see the face of a dark-haired, beautiful girl.
Those near by were sufficiently entertained by the spectacle which stopped them. They gathered around the tank and gaped and grinned. The tank's driver was a brown-skinned, dark-haired Englishman, with a face of oriental stolidity.
In the window on the left was set a great carved Renaissance writing-table, and upon it burned an electric lamp with an artistic shade of emerald glass. A few moments later a man in evening-dress entered hurriedly almost breathlessly. I judged him to be about forty-five, dark-haired and decidedly handsome, but his complexion was a trifle sallow, and his features had a decidedly Oriental cast.
It was, as a matter of fact, the work of Atkinson, who in the first years of the nineteenth century built Scone, Abbotsford, and Taymouth Castle. With loud warning blasts upon the horn, Gabrielle Heyburn pulled up; but ere she could descend, Walter Murie, a good-looking, dark-haired young man in grey flannels, and hatless, was outside, hailing her with delight.
Boone was then well under thirty, graceful of figure, dark-haired, wore a slender downy moustache that served only to emphasize his youth, but possessed that reserve and repose of manner most typical of the utterly fearless. The Sioux made his acquaintance early, to their grief. One night they descended on his ranch and carried off all the stage horses and most of Boone's.
'Ah! It is a sigh of genuine relief. At last he has a clue, if a slight one. But what does he want of a clue? Having gotten thus far, I relate briefly my experience of this morning, omitting description and the name of Monsieur Voisin, whom I describe as a tall dark-haired gentleman, evidently a foreigner, and then I play my card.
Tripler Hall, opposite Bond Street upon Broadway, was crowded as usual, and when Jenny Lind had withdrawn after singing one of her "numbers," a slight, dark-haired youth came upon the stage and seated himself at the piano.
One was Harrod, a tall, spare, dark-haired man of great endurance, a type of the best that conquered the land for the nation; the other, that Hugh McGary of whom I have spoken, coarse and brutal, if you like, but fearless and a leader of men withal. With one accord men and women and children flocked thither, and as we ran we heard McGary's voice above the rest.
First is Garfield Boone, known to his chums as Garry. He is the accepted and chosen leader of the trio on all their expeditions. Garry's father, known to the backwoodsmen as "Moose" Boone, is a wealthy lumberman. Next is Phil Durant, a dark-haired youth of French descent. He is able to talk French fluently, but keeps this knowledge under cover, as the boys once found it useful for him to do.
"What do you want?" asked the actor in a bass voice, looking at Dymov ungraciously. "Do you want Olga Ivanovna? Wait a minute; she will be here directly." Dymov sat down and waited. One of the dark-haired men, looking sleepily and listlessly at him, poured himself out a glass of tea, and asked: "Perhaps you would like some tea?"
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