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Updated: June 13, 2025
On one side our windows looked out on darkness of the waste; on the other at the black Canal, all spaced with monstrous headlights of the night-running steamers. Then came towns, lighted with electricity, governed by mixed commissions, and dealing in cotton.
It grew colder, and I shivered a little; the snow became a wet white fog around the glowing arc of the headlights; and always the road fell, now in long curves, now in steep short dips, till I was aware of a glen opening towards the south.
The superintendent glanced back and saw two staring headlights standing near his own door. "Oh, well, there's Smith there," he said. "And if it's anybody wanting me, he knows where I've gone. Come on for aught we know these two may have cleared out already."
He slowed up instantly and in a moment halted car. The headlights played upon two men standing belligerently in front of the roadster. "Good evening, gentlemen!" cried the Governor. "Short of gas or what's the trouble?" "We're from the Portsmouth police," answered one of the men while the other ran to the rear of the car and swung a lantern over the license tag. "Maine tag," he shouted.
Perspiring waiters and flustered waitresses fed the hordes in the hotels, while the baths worked overtime. The road to the camp lay like a searchlight beam across the landscape the cloud of never-resting dust lit by the strong headlights of a thousand taxis which careered along the rough road, careless of life or of their own future.
Tom removed one of the headlights and found his way to the door of the cottage next to the smithy. There was neither bell nor knocker, but he thundered at the panel with right good will, until he heard a stir in a chamber above. Finally a blind opened a little way and a sleepy voice inquired what he wanted. "Are you the blacksmith, sir?" asked Tom. "Huh? Wal! I should say I was.
You'd never git within shootin' distance of this lady's camp. I'm Casey Ryan that's speakin' to yuh. You ask anybody about me. Git!" Sourly they shouldered their bed-rolls and went limping down the trail, and when their forms were only blurs beyond the shine of the headlights, the little woman churned Jawn around somehow in the sand and drove back quite as recklessly as she had come.
Mountains well wooded are on every hand; no black factory smoke defaces the sky line. Two locomotive headlights shed their rays over the cemetery to-night and gave enough light for the men to work by. They rapidly shoveled in the dirt. No priests were there to consecrate the ground or say a prayer over the cold limbs of the unknown.
The little red taillight of his machine shone brightly. Pee-wee was just wondering why these travelers used no headlights and whether the first cyclist would return to assist his friend, when he beheld something which caught and held his gaze in rapt concentration. The little red taillight went out and on four times in quick succession. There followed an appreciable pause, then two quick flashes.
The headlights blazed on the clots of ice in the road so that the tiniest lumps gave mountainous shadows, and the taillight cast a circle of ruby on the snow behind. Kennicott was opening the door, crying, "Here we are, old girl! Got stuck couple times, but we made it, by golly, we made it, and here we be! Come on! Food! Eatin's!"
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