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Updated: June 13, 2025
I'd miss Leff dreadfully. Come, it's time to go." Before he could answer she was climbing the bank, not looking back, moving confidently as one who had no need of his aid. He followed her slowly, sore and angry, his eyes on her figure which flitted in advance clean-cut against the pale, enormous sky. He had just caught up with her when from a hollow near the roadside Leff came into view.
Daddy John's action was the one she really did understand, and she even understood why Leff swore so violently. It was Sunday again and they lay encamped near the Little Blue. The country was changing, the trees growing thin and scattered and sandy areas were cropping up through the trail.
She stopped speaking as he emerged from the trees, and Leff's stammering answer held her in a riveted stare of attention. Then she looked up and saw David. "Oh," she said, and transferred the stare to him. "Is this he?" Leff was obviously relieved: "Oh, David, I ain't known what to say to this lady and her father. They think some of joining us. They've been waiting for quite a spell to see you.
Being "well fixed" or being poor did not count on the edge of the prairie. They were frivolous outside matters that had weight in cities. Leff went on, "He's consumpted. That's why he's going. He says he expects to be cured before he gets to California." A sudden zephyr irritated the tree tops, which bent away from its touch and scattered moisture on the fire and the frying pan.
Being ushered into the presence of a dignified negro, the cutter of fishing-poles informed the "justice" that he desired legal advice in a case of salvage. "Dat's rite, dat's berry good, sah," said the negro; "now you jes' set rite down he'ar, and macadimize de case to me. I gibs ebery man justice no turnin' to de rite or de leff hand."
A movement, like a resumed quiver of vitality, stirred the bronze stillness of the squaws. The Indians spoke together a low murmur. David thought he saw indecision in their colloquy, then decision. "They're going," he heard Susan say a little hoarse. "Oh, God, they're going!" Leff gasped, as one reprieved of the death sentence.
Scipio's man was no doubt the same. The name was too rare a one to be borne by two individuals; besides, I had heard that he was owner of a plantation somewhere up the coast at Bringiers, I remembered. The probabilities were it was he. If so, and Mademoiselle Besancon had no other friend, then, indeed, had Scipio spoken truly when he said, "She hab no friends leff."
It was a businesslike wagon. Its contents included only one deviation from the practical and necessary three books of David's. Joe had laughed at him about them. What did a man want with Byron's poems and Milton and Bacon's "Essays" crossing the plains? Neither Joe nor Leff could understand such devotion to the printed page.
She's off to de school-house in Boston yet. An' it ain't leff out. She 's gwine be back dis spring." "What's cattle bringing now?" "Dunno, sah. I heah dey 's done riz." "Has little Johnnie Martin got his curls cut yet?" "No, sah. Ah seed 'em on him." "What's doing in town? Anything new there?" "No, sah. Jes' 'bout de same as usual."
In fringed and greasy buckskins, with long hair and swarthy faces, their feet noiseless in moccasins, they were so much of the wild, that it needed the words, "Trappers from Laramie," to reassure the doctor and make Leff put down his rifle. The leader, a lean giant, bearded to the cheek bones and with lank locks of hair falling from a coon-skin cap, gave his introduction briefly.
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