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Updated: May 2, 2025
The mountain cast its vast blue shadow over forest and pasture, and above the pines the white mist was rising from Coniston Water rising in strange shapes. Lem's voice seemed to William Wetherell to have given way to a world-wide silence, in the midst of which he sought vainly for Cynthia and the stage driver.
We have a taste for picturesque and forceful speech. From that time we always saw the lunatic and the bent shepherd together. The older man grew quieter under Lem's care than he had been for years, and if he felt one of his insane impulses overtaking him, ran totteringly to grasp his protector's arm until, quaking and shivering, he was himself again.
"And how funny he looks with that red thing o-o-o-n!" Miss Swan explained that she had thrown that in for the colour, and that they had been fancying him in the character of a young Roman. "You think he's got a Roman n-o-o-se?" asked Statira through her own. "I think Lem's got a kind of a pug, m'self," said 'Manda Grier. "Well, 'Manda Grier!" said Statira.
They are cleaning up now, in the camp house, and will be over by and by to sample some of Lem's goods," and the engineer sighed. "No, I can't keep them away from the place. I've tried. Some of them won't come; but the majority will be in that pleasing condition known as 'howling drunk' before morning." "Oh, Frank! I wish Lem would stop selling the stuff," cried Janice. "Well, he won't.
His words were softly spoken with an old-time inflection. She sank down with a cry. She was so near him that the cat rose and spat venomously. Lem's curses brought Scraggy out of her dreams. "Chuck that damn cat to the bank," ordered Lem, "if ye want to stay with me! Do ye hear? Chuck him out!" "Nope, I ain't a goin' to! I'm goin' hum." "Not till ye tell me where the boy is.
Lem, it appeared, had later decided that he may have been shot much earlier in the afternoon than sundown. What had occurred had fallen into the hazy uncertainty of a dream. "What kind of a rifle does Indian Jake use?" asked Doctor Joe. "A thirty-eight fifty-five," said Thomas. Doctor Joe drew from his pocket the bullet extracted from Lem's wound. Thomas examined it critically.
Do ye hear?" "Yes, Pappy Lon," murmured Fledra, dropping her eyes. "I ain't said yet when ye was to go to Lem's hut; but, when I do, don't ye kick up no row, and ye'd best do as Lem tells ye, or he'll take the sass out of yer hide!" "I wish I could stay with you," ventured Fledra sorrowfully; but to this Lon did not reply.
For years nobody in our valley has tried to do much with sheep because of dogs, and all Lem's neighbors told him that some fine morning he would find his flock torn and dismembered. They even pointed out the particular big collie dog who would most likely go "sheep-mad."
Much accident there was about that. He didn't know what he was there for, but he was there for a good object. If he hadn't been there the Irishman would have been killed. Nobody can ever make me believe anything different from that. Uncle Lem's dog was there. Why didn't the Irishman fall on the dog? Becuz the dog would a seen him a coming and stood from under.
The boldness of Lem's intention for the moment took away their breaths, and then the awe-stricken hush which followed his declaration was broken by the sound of Chester's fist hammering on the counter. "That's the sperrit," he cried; "I'll go along with you, Lem." "No, you won't," said Lem, "you'll stay right whar you be." "Chester wants to git credit for the move," suggested Sam Price, slyly.
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