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Updated: May 19, 2025
"Took you a long time to find it out," said Racey Dawson. "Si'down, I said," he added, sharply. Bull obeyed, his back against the rock, and was careful not to lower his hands. Racey hunkered down and sat on a spurless heel. The rifle was under his knee. He had exchanged the bowie for a sixshooter. The firearm was trained in the general direction of Bull's stomach. Racey smiled widely.
Dickson stored up in his memory several of the incidents in case they should come in handy. He wondered if any of his forbears had been Covenanters; it comforted him to think that some old progenitor might have hunkered behind turf walls and been chased for his life in the heather. "Just like me," he reflected.
Shann remained hunkered on the sand, every sense abnormally alert, watching the fog. He was still sure he could hear sounds which marked the progress of another. What other? One of the Warlockians tracking him to spy? Or was there some prisoner like himself lost out there in the murk? Could it be Thorvald? Now the sound had ceased. He was not even sure from what direction it had first come.
There was an incredible number of bandages; and the tearing sound they being stuck fast to each other by bitumen and gums and spices and the little cloud of red pungent dust that arose, pressed on the senses of all of us. As the last wrappings came away, we saw the animal seated before us. He was all hunkered up; his hair and teeth and claws were complete.
He stuck in his head and saw a faint glow beyond the half-closed door of the office. The glow seemed to be brighter near the floor. Racey listened intently. He heard a faint grumble and now and then a squeak. He crouched beneath the window and removed his boots. Then he crawled over the sill and hunkered down on the uncarpeted floor. The floor boards did not creak.
Vye made the light leap to the bole of the dead tree, balanced out on it over the water, moving slowly as the trunk settled a little under his weight. He hunkered down, brought out the first bulb tied fast to a blanket string. The water of the river had been brown, opaque. But here the liquid was not so cloudy. He could see snags of dead branches below its surface. And something else!
He had put them all in their separate compartments. For a long moment he hunkered there, studying the assortment. And then, almost as if some will other than his own was making a choice, he reached out.
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