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Updated: July 10, 2025
There was a very black hole yawning before him. The cumulative force of events had made him once more profoundly uncertain. All his props were breaking. Sometimes he wondered if the personal God of the Christian orthodoxy was wreaking upon him some obscure vengeance for unknown sins. He shook himself out of this depressing bog of reflection and went to see Archie Lawanne.
Not only because of myself, but because of what effect the shock of seeing me may have on her. Remember that I'll be like a stranger to her. She has never seen me. It seems absurd, but it's true. It's better that she sees me the first time by herself, at home, instead of before a hundred curious eyes. Don't you see?" Lawanne saw; at least, he agreed that it was better so.
There was some charm more subtle than these, something to which he responded without knowing clearly what it was, something that made the mere knowledge of her presence in his house a comfort, no matter whether he was beside her or miles away. Lawanne once said to him that a man must worship a God, love a woman, or find a real friendship, to make life endurable.
They came out of nowhere, going up river or down, stopped perhaps to smoke a pipe, to exchange a few words, before they moved on into the hushed places that swallowed them up. The man's name was Lawanne. He was bound up-stream, after grizzly bear. "I was told of an Englishman named Bland who is quite a hunter.
The valley itself was shrouded under the dark blanket of the night, through which the river murmured unseen and distant waterfalls roared over rocky precipices. The two Indians attending Lawanne squatted within the red glow of their fire on the bank. Downstream a yellow spot broke out like a candle flame against black velvet. "There is some one at Bland's now," Hollister said.
"He'd only smile in a superior manner," Lawanne declared. "You couldn't get Bland fussed up by any mere assertion. The only thing that would stir him deeply would be a direct assault on that vague abstraction which he calls his honor or on his property. Then he would very likely smite the wrongdoer with all the efficiency of outraged virtue."
Lawanne sometimes liked to talk at great length, to assume the oracular vein, to analyze actions and situations, to put his finger on a particular motive and trace its origin, its most remote causation. Mills seldom talked. It was strange to hear him speak as he did now, to Lawanne. Mills walked back through the flat with Hollister.
Some one had been in the house. The breakfast dishes were washed, the dust cleared away, the floor swept, his bed made. He wondered, but gave credit to Lawanne. It was like Archie to send his Chinese boy to perform those tasks. But it was Myra, he discovered by and by. He came off the hill in mid-afternoon two days later and found her clearing up the kitchen. "You don't mind, do you?" she asked.
"Do you people realize what a panoramic beauty is here before your eyes all the time?" he asked once. "It's like a fairyland to me. I must see a lot of this country before I go away. And I came here quite by chance." "Which is, after all, the way nearly everything happens," Doris said. "Oh," Lawanne turned to her, "You think so?
Sometimes, latterly, he saw a hint of that same dubious expression about Archie Lawanne. But there was a different temper in Lawanne, a flash of the sardonic at times. In July, however, Lawanne went away. "I'm coming back, though," he told Hollister before he left. "I think I shall put up a cabin and winter here."
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