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"But he must have seen it comin' an' left Sears to his fate. It sure was a fittin' last ride for a hoss-thief." Bostil sent Holley and Farlane on ahead to find Cordts and Hutchinson, with their comrades, to tell them the fate of Sears, and to warn them to leave before the news got to the riders. The sun was setting golden and red over the broken battlements of the canyons to the west.
Sure he'll lick you, but mebbe you could give the old cuss a black eye." Holley laughed as if the idea gave him infinite pleasure. "Fight Bostil? ... Lucy would hate me!" cried Slone. "Nix! You don't know thet kid. If the old man goes after you Lucy'll care more fer you. She's jest like him in some ways."
Appeal to the twelve National Assemblies and individuals to insure a steady augmentation of these Funds through annual assignment in National Budgets and by individual contributions. Advise transmit contributions to Varqá, Holley, Giachery, Banání and Dunn acting as Trustees of the Asiatic, American, European, African and Australian Funds respectively.
The story used to be told that after the Reverend Horace Holley had delivered a prayer on some public occasion, Major Ben. The "Alta California's" "elegant tribute" is not quite up to this rhetorical altitude.
Holley put out a swift hand. "Bostil the girl's alive she's smilin'!" he called, and the cool voice was strangely different. The riders waited for Bostil. Slone rode into the courtyard. He was white and weary, reeling in the saddle. A bloody scarf was bound round his shoulder. He held Lucy in his arms. She had on his coat. A wan smile lighted her haggard face.
This did not prevent Him, however, from effectively spreading the Bahá’í message through Asia, Europe and America. Mr. Horace Holley writes of this period as follows:—
"Holley, don't you go back on me!" cried Slone. "I was driven!" "Don't talk so loud," whispered the rider in return. "I've only a minnit. ... Here a letter from Lucy.... An', son, don't git the idee thet I'll go back on you." Slone took the letter with trembling fingers. All the fury and gloom instantly fled. Lucy had written him! He could not speak.
"Oh, Dad, it could hardly be true," expostulated Lucy. "Both you and Farlane are a little sore at Van now." "I'm a lot sore," replied Bostil, gruffly. "Anyway, how did Farlane know how I handled Sage King?" queried Lucy. "Wal, every hair on a hoss talks to Farlane, so Holley says.... Lucy, you take the King out every day for a while. Ride him now an' watch out!
Slone had built a little porch on the front of his cabin and a bench, which he had covered with goatskins. It struck him a little strangely that he should bend over to rearrange these skins just as Holley approached the porch. "Howdy, son!" was the rider's drawled remark. "Sure makes me puff to climb up this mountain."
"Boss, she double-crossed me same as you! ... She promised faithful to stay in the house." "Promises nothin'!" roared Bostil. "She's in love with this wild-hoss wrangler! She met him last night!" "I couldn't help thet," retorted Holley. "An' I trusted the girl." Bostil tossed his hands. He struggled with his rage. He had no fear that Lucy would not soon be found.
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