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Updated: June 4, 2025
Lounsbury's face darkened. He was lightly ironical no longer. He urged his mount forward. "Don't argue with me, you infernal blackguard," he said. "You can prove anything you want to by a lot of perjuring, thieving land-grabbers. Don't I know 'em! If you filed on this claim you were hired to do it. You hadn't an idea of settling, or building a home.
He knew now why Kenly Lounsbury had been willing to finance Virginia's trip into the North, not in hopes of finding his lost nephew, but to find the mine of which he also had some knowledge and thus repair the broken remnants of his fortune. In the same sweep of realization he knew why Harold Lounsbury's face had always haunted him and filled him with hazy, uncertain memories.
"Miss Marylyn," he said, "before another winter you'll be the belle of the town of Lancaster." She put her hand in his bashfully. "And, Miss Dallas?" His voice entreated a little. "I hope you'll be the biggest storekeeper," she said. To Lounsbury's surprise, he saw a trace of fun lurking in her eye. "Ah! you've forgiven me!" he declared triumphantly. But she made no answer as she turned away.
But a quick, peremptory gesture from her father interrupted. "Mar'lyn," he cried, his eyes warning the elder girl, "look out fer thet coffee; it's a-bilin' over." And Dallas saw that her father did not trust the storekeeper perhaps feared him and that he did not wish his own neglect to be known. But a hint of the state of affairs at the shack had already entered Lounsbury's mind.
The wind bore toward them from Harold's new abode, the rifle was of heavy caliber, and the sound came clear and unmistakable through the stillness. They looked from one to the other. "Four shots," Pete said at last. "Lounsbury's signal." Pete stood very still, as if in thought. "Didn't come heap too quick," he observed. "One day more you and me been gone down to Yuga after supplies."
The same thing is true of Darwin and Huxley and Carlyle and Emerson, and parts of Kant, and of volumes like Sutherland's "Growth of the Moral Instinct," or Acton's Essays and Lounsbury's studies here again I am not trying to class books together, or measure one by another, or enumerate one in a thousand of those worth reading, but just to indicate that any man or woman of some intelligence and some cultivation can in some line or other of serious thought, scientific or historical or philosophical or economic or governmental, find any number of books which are charming to read, and which in addition give that for which his or her soul hungers.
He was afraid of his horse, to start with and this is never an auspicious beginning. A frightened rider means a nervous, excited animal and nervousness and excitement are unhealthy qualities in the Selkirks. Neither put trust in the other, and Lounsbury's cruel, lashing blows with the long bridle ends only made matters worse.
"When the night comes?" whispered Lame Foot. They pressed about Matthews, taking his hands. "When the night comes," he answered, "you will know by a sign. Let a warrior keep watch. For it shall come when the moon dies. It shall be the call of a mourning dove." Bismarck nearing at last! Since dawn, Lounsbury's head had been poked from a window of the forward car.
And Dallas was a wild thing that cannot tell of its wound. She uttered no complaint, even to Simon. The outburst that followed Lounsbury's return was her first and last. She questioned now if her suffering justified a lament. In this, she resembled her mother. A woman, coming to the section-house one torrid day, remarked wonderingly that Mrs. Lancaster gave "nary a whimper."
"Why, dear baby, don't you fret. We're going to be all right. Dad'll soon be back, Mr. Lounsbury's watching, and we won't lose the little home." "Oh, it ain't that, it ain't that," weeping harder than before; "I'm so unhappy!" It was an answer that smote Dallas to the heart. Some trouble, heretofore concealed, was threatening her sister's peace of mind.
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