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Updated: June 24, 2025
I want to get away, to start again somewhere. I've been a failure. I want to get away, right away south. If he would buy it I could start again. I've had no luck." He had invented it on the moment, but the girl understood better than Lygon or Henderley could have dreamed. She had seen the change pass over Lygon. Henderley had a hand on himself again, and the startled look went out of his eyes.
Eef you say you not care a dam to go to jail, so you can put him there, too, becos' you have not'ing, an' so dam seeck of everyt'ing, he will t'ink ten t'ousan' dollar same as one cent to Nic Dupont ben sûr!" Lygon nodded his head, still holding his hands to the blaze.
You said eet was all right!" he growled. "It is all right. I got nothing. I asked for nothing. I have had enough. I have finished." With a roar of rage Dupont sprang on him, and caught him by the throat as the canoe swayed and dipped. He was blind with fury. Lygon tried with one hand for his knife, and got it, but the pressure on his throat was growing terrible.
Why did the face of the ranchman which had fixed itself on her memory then, because he had come on the evening of her birthday and had spoiled it for her, having taken her father away from her for an hour why did his face come to her now? What had it to do with the face of this outcast she had just left? "What is his name?" she asked at last. "Roger Lygon," he answered.
For minutes the struggle continued, for Lygon was fighting with the desperation of one who makes his last awful onset against fate and doom. Dupont also had his knife at work. At last it drank blood, but as he got it home he suddenly reeled blindly, lost his balance, and lurched into the water with a groan.
The houses are neatly built of brick with slate roofs and high chimneys. In the centre there is a room used as a chapel. There are altogether fourteen inmates. On a stone let into the wall nearest the road is the inscription: "The Fulham Waste Land and Lygon Almshouses, founded 1833 and rebuilt 1886. This stone was laid by Frederick, Lord Bishop of London, April 21, 1886."
Lygon, in whom a blind hatred of the man still raged, was about to reply, when he heard a voice calling, "Daddy, Daddy!" Suddenly the red, half-insane light died down in Lygon's eyes. He saw the snake upon the ground by the reedy lake, the girl standing over it the girl with the tawny hair. This was her voice.
"I must do it. I must get there if I can. I will not be afraid to die then," he muttered to himself. Presently he grasped an oar and paddled feebly. A slight wind had risen, and, as he turned the boat in to face the Forks again, it helped to carry the canoe to the landing-place. Lygon dragged himself out.
Henderley had made a step toward a curtain opening into another room of the great tent, but before he could reach it the curtain was pushed back and the girl entered with a smile. "May I come in?" she said; then stood still, astonished, seeing Lygon. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "Oh you!" All at once a look came into her face which stirred it as a flying insect stirs the water of a pool.
As the shadows fell, Lygon roused himself from his trance with a shiver. It was not cold, but in him there was a nervous agitation, making him cold from head to foot; his body seemed as impoverished as his mind. Looking with heavy-lidded eyes across the prairie, he saw in the distance the barracks of the Riders of the Plains and the jail near by, and his shuddering ceased.
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