Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 16, 2025
Dicksie's voice was faint. "I'm going to give Marion her pin." "Do nothing of the sort! Come here! Give it to me." "Dicksie, dare you tell me, after a shock like that, it really is your pin?" "Oh, I don't know whose pin it is!" "Why, what is the matter?" "Give me the pin!" She put her hands unsteadily up under her hat. "Here, for Heaven's sake, if you must have something, take this comb!"
These three carried rifles slung across their pommels, and in front of them rode the stranger. Fragments of the breakfast-table talk of the morning came back to Dicksie's mind. The railroad graders were in the valley below the ranch, and she had heard her cousin say a good deal on a point she cared little about, as to where the railroad should cross the Stone Ranch.
Let me watch this hen for a few minutes and diagnose her. You go on to your other chickens. I'll stay here and think." Dicksie went down through the yards. When she came back, Whispering Smith was sitting on a cracker-box watching the bantam. The chicken was making desperate efforts to get off Dicksie's cord and join its companions in the runway.
Marion had called up the stable, but the stablemen could only tell her that Dicksie's horse, in terrible condition, had come in riderless. While Barnhardt, the railway surgeon, at the bedside administered restoratives, Marion talked with him of Dicksie's sudden and mysterious coming. Dicksie, lying in pain and quite conscious, heard all, but, unable to explain, moaned in her helplessness.
Marion, I want to talk a few minutes with you, may I? Do you mind going out under the cottonwood?" Dicksie's heart jumped. "Don't be gone long, Marion," she exclaimed impulsively, "for you know, Mr. Sinclair, we must get back by two o'clock." And Dicksie, pale with apprehension, looked at them both. Marion, quite composed, nodded reassuringly and followed Sinclair out of doors into the sunshine.
Lance, getting no answer but a fierce, searching gaze from Dicksie's wild eyes, laid his hand on a chair, lighted a cigar, and sat down before the fire. Dicksie dropped the telephone receiver, put her hand to her girdle, and looked at him. When she spoke her tone was stinging. "You know that man is going to Medicine Bend to kill his wife!"
Often when Marion spoke of him, which she did without the slightest reserve and with no reference as to whether Dicksie liked it or not, it had been in Dicksie's mind to bring up the subject of the disagreeable scene, hoping that Marion would suggest a way for making some kind of unembarrassing amends.
"I live a great deal alone over here," he said, waving Dicksie's continued refusal magnificently aside as he moved into the next room. "I've got a few good dogs, and I hunt just enough to keep my hand in with a rifle." Dicksie quailed a little at the smile that went with the words.
"This shell pin fell from your hair that night you were at camp by the bridge do you remember? I couldn't bear to give it back." Dicksie's eyes opened wide. "Let me see it. I don't think that is mine." "Great Heaven! Have I been carrying Marion Sinclair's pin for a month?" exclaimed McCloud. "Well, I won't lose any time in returning it to her, at any rate." "Where are you going?"
Sinclair was superb in answering, but the danger of admiring things became at once apparent, for when Dicksie exclaimed over a handsome bearskin, a rich dark brown grizzly-skin of unusual size, Sinclair told the story of the killing, bared his tremendous forearm to show where the polished claws had ripped him, and, disregarding Dicksie's protests, insisted on sending the skin over to Crawling Stone Ranch as a souvenir of her visit.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking