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Updated: June 19, 2025
Lander's force was but a handful in comparison: he escaped with them for their lives that day, leaving the town and the hills in full possession of the Confederates. A bleak, heartless day: coldest of all for Dode, lying on the floor of her little room. How wide and vacant the world looked to her! What could she do there? Why was she born?
She drove home next day, and on the following morning a man who was driving in to Lander's brought Mrs. Hastings a note from Sproatly. It was very brief, and ran: "Gregory arrived same night by Pacific train. It is evident he must have got off at the next station down the line." Mrs. Hastings showed it to her husband. "I'm afraid we have been too hasty. What am I to do with this?" she said.
He twisted his head in the direction he meant. "This is my first season at Middlemount; but I guess Mr. Atwell will know." The clerk called to the landlord, who was smoking in his private room behind the office, and the landlord came out. The clerk repeated Mr. Lander's questions. "Pootty good kind of folks, I guess," said the landlord provisionally, through his cigar-smoke.
Then he dropped the towel, grabbed his uniform shirt from a hanger by the door, and put it on before going to the lander's comscreen. "What's up, Major?" Dawson repeated what Corina had told him, adding, "Sergeant Orloff said she was definitely the one being attacked, sir. I asked for a mindprobe to be run on the attacker." Well, Medart thought with brief regret, there went his leave.
He did not see her; he was looking down at the hotel register, to compute the bill of a departing guest; but when she passed out she found him watching for her, with some letters. "I didn't know you were with us," he said, with his pensive smile, "till I found your letters here, addressed to Mrs. Lander's care; and then I put two and two together.
Lander's memory so far as to say, "Well, if she'd been somebody else most of the time, it would have been an improvement." The talk turned upon Mr. Orson, and what he would probably do.
The two women went home next day, and on the following morning a man, who was driving in to Lander's, brought Mrs. Hastings a note from Sproatly. It was very brief, and ran: "Gregory arrived same night by Pacific train. It is evident he must have got off at the next station down the line." Mrs. Hastings showed it to her husband. "I'm afraid we have been too hasty.
You can't miss the road on account of it bein' the only road there is. And Lander's is the only one hotel in Rusty. You'd best stop the night there." He evidently wanted to ask her her destination, but his courtesy forbade. Sheila volunteered, "I am going to Miss Blake's ranch up Hidden Creek." A sort of flash of surprise passed across the reserved, brown, young face.
Lander. "No'm; but he's I don't know how to express it he likes to do every kind of thing." "But he's got some business, ha'n't he?" A shadow of severity crept over Mrs. Lander's tone, in provisional reprehension of possible shiftlessness. "Yes'm. He was a machinist at the Mills; that's what the doctas thought didn't agree with him.
At half-past ten a.m. he manned the boat with two of Lander's men, and two Kroomen belonging to the brig, and sent them to tow while the anchor was got on board. This had no sooner been done than the wind fell light, and instead of drifting over to the western breakers as on the two preceding days, the brig was now set towards those on the eastern side, and again they had a narrow escape.
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