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Updated: May 15, 2025
She knew this from their difference of color; the horses that they had left the second Dax ranch with had been white, and these that now toiled over the sand and desolation were apparently brown. She could not be certain that they were brown, or that they were toiling over the sand and desolation, or that her name was Mary Carmichael, or indeed of anything.
Another tertiary group occurring in the neighbourhood of Bordeaux and Dax, in the South of France, was examined by M. de Basterot in 1825, who described and figured several hundred species of shells, which differed for the most part both from the Parisian series and those of the Subapennine hills.
The Rodneys At Home All that long and never-to-be-forgotten night the stage lurched through the darkness with Mary Carmichael the solitary passenger. The fat lady had warned Johnnie Dax that he was on no account to replenish Chugg’s flask, if he had the wherewithal for replenishment on the premises.
"Wonder who she was?" said Leander, with the sparkling triumph of a poor relation whose surmise had been accepted. But Mrs. Dax had evidently decided that Leander had gone far enough. "Was you expectin’ any of your lady friends by Chugg’s stage that you are so frettin’ anxious?" she inquired, and the poor relation collapsed miserably.
Chugg halloed, and an old white horse put his head out of the door, shook it upward as if in assent, then trotted off. "That’s Jerry, and he’s the intelligentest animal I ever see," remarked the stage-driver, sobering up to Jerry’s good qualities, and presently Johnnie Dax and the white horse appeared together from around the corner of the house. This Mr.
Many a man would have took to dissipation, in his circumstances, but Johnnie just lost heart and grew slatterly. Why, he’d leave his dishes go from one day till the next—" "There’s more as would leave their dishes from one day till the next if they wasn’t looked after." And the wife of his bosom stood in the door like a vengeful household goddess. Mr. Dax made a grab for the nearest plates.
Tearing open the envelope, he read it voraciously, read it to the exclusion of his surroundings, the world at large, and—Judith. He strode up and down the floor two or three times, and called to Leander, who was passing: "Dax, I must have that gray mare of yours right away."
The stage was late, and there was no good and sufficient reason for wearing it out. A similar consideration of economy led her to flirt off flies with her second best pocket-handkerchief. Mrs. Dax presided over the gathering with awful severity. Every one truckled to her shamefully, receiving her lightest remarks as if they were to be inscribed on tablets of bronze.
No ladies in white muslin poured tea; they garbed themselves in simple gunny-sacking, and their repartee had an acrid, personal note. But Mary was glad to know that Archie had that picture, and that he thought of her in such ideal surroundings. On Horse-thief Trail Judith, on her black mare, Dolly, left the Dax ranch after the mid-day meal to go in quest of her brother.
M. du Bouchet mentions a rough sketch engraved on a flint discovered near Dax; the workman, doubtless daunted by the difficulties of his task, had abandoned it unfinished. It is, however, easy to tell what it was meant for. The skull is low and flat, the nose but slightly prominent, the eyes are oblique, and neither the mouth nor the chin are finished.
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