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Updated: July 2, 2025
"If Freme will let liquor alone," he had written to Thayor the day these final arrangements were completed, "you couldn't have a better man or a better girl, but I'm afraid we'll have to move Bill Morrison's bar-room into Canada to accomplish it." The result of this bargain Holcomb learned from the girl herself as she sat in his cabin, the glow of a swinging lamp lighting up her face.
"Yes so we mistrusted," answered Freme, in a regretful tone, "when we overheard ye talkin' 'bout telegrams." "Goll! I hate to have ye go," declared the trapper, clearing his throat. "Seems 'ough you hain't but jest come, Mr. Thayor. But you got what ye come for, didn't ye? I dunno as I ever see a nicer deer." "Yes, thanks to you and the old dog. But I'm coming back."
For some time neither the trapper nor the Clown spoke. Both sat amazed, silently gazing into the fire. Then Hite said slowly, turning to the Clown: "Freme, I dunno as if I ever seen a nicer man." Once outside Thayor stretched his arms above his head. "Ah what a day, it has been, Billy," he sighed. "What a full, glorious day, and what a rest it has all been.
'Git, gals! and he drawed the lines tight on 'em, and Sam's boy says it jest seemed as if they sailed off in the air." Thayor broke out into a roar of laughter, and was about to ask the Clown whether the physic had killed the pneumonia or the woman, when the trapper slanting his shoulders against the bunk broke in with: "Ye ain't laid it on a bit too thick, Freme."
At what hour do we start in the morning?" and a touch of sadness came into his voice. "At seven," Holcomb replied; "Freme will take us out to the railroad with a team from Morrison's. We can send your telegram there." "Good!" cried Thayor, brightening. "And, Mr. Holt isn't he coming too?" "I'm afraid not; he said to me before lunch that he and the dog were going to stay on for a spell."
At that moment she had opened the bar-room door and announced supper. Instantaneously the front legs of the line of tilted chairs came to the floor with a bang. The Clown reached the girl and the half-open door first. "Blast you, Freme Skinner," she said, "be you a-goin' in or out?"
"Of course you had a good time?" "Yes, and I feel twenty years younger," he ventured; "couldn't help it, the way those men took care of me." "Who?" she asked, still gazing at him curiously. "Young Holcomb and " "Ah, yes, I remember," she mused, while she played with the lace on the sleeve of her gown. "And there was Freme Skinner and a grizzled, kindly old trapper, named Hite Holt," he added.
"He's been kind er down in the mouth all day." "'Twarn't nothin' we said 'bout huntin' over to Lily Pond, was it?" ventured Freme. "No guess not," replied the trapper thoughtfully. "But you know you've got to handle him jest so. He's gettin' techier and older every day."
"You fellows must have been drowned out last night; the log over the South Branch is gone in the freshet; we had to get round the best way we could. Step up, Freme," he said. "I want you to know Mr. Thayor. This is Freme Skinner, Mr. Thayor, and this is Hite Holt, and there's no better anywhere round here." Thayor stretched out both hands and caught each extended palm in a hearty grip.
To meet again Billy and Freme; to feel the friendly pressure of the old dog's head upon his thin knees; to be within sight once more of a snug, dry lean-to ready to rest his tired body. These were mercies he had never thought to see again. Yet, thankful as he was for them, they were secondary to his silent joy at seeing his father.
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