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Updated: June 5, 2025
That silence was neither demanded by the section-boss nor agreed upon by the three. On Lancaster's part, it grew out of the sneaking consciousness of the ingratitude he did not regret; on the part of Marylyn, it arose from two causes: a sense of girlish shame at having confessed her attachment, and a fear that her father would discover it.
There he was a pitiful sentinel as she circled the shack and reined. And now another question was presented: Should Marylyn stay or go? Dallas was for her remaining, so that, in case of need, help could be summoned from somewhere. Marylyn sided with her.
The shack was pitch dark. Of one thing she could be sure: The storm had not abated, so there was no hope of aid. She knew something must be done. Simon and the team wrung her heart with their pleas. Beside her, Marylyn was turning with fretful complaints. The younger girl rolled her head from side to side constantly, and moistened her lips.
Presently, Marylyn moaned; then, Dallas lowered her arm and looked down at her sister. "One of the mules would be easier," she said bitterly. But remembering the brown eyes of the team, and the long, grey-whiskered noses, she covered her face again. "Ah don' keer w'at y' say," declared her father. "We'll hev steak." He selected a log and began to hack at it.
On the other hand, she longed to have Marylyn with her, where she could shield her from cross words and possible harm. "We'll have Mr. Lounsbury with us coming home," she said. At that, Marylyn waxed still more eager to remain. And it took some pleading to overcome her reluctance, and to bring about her consent. Finally, however, the two girls drove away.
"I hate myself for coming," she said fiercely. "We love each other. That isn't a crime," he declared. "For you, it isn't. But it is for me. Because it'll hurt Marylyn. Oh, you don't understand I can't take her happiness. I can't! I can't!" "It's not your fault that I love you, Dallas." "What happens next is." He shook his head smiling. She raised her chin, as if striving to master herself.
Jim swept up the last check and putting it with the others tore them into confetti and scattered them on the floor. Someone started singing and Nancy kicking her chair backward rose to her feet. "Ladies and gentlemen," she announced, "Ladies that's you Marylyn. I want to tell the world that Mr.
Then the hack, hack, hack began again. She did not watch him, but donned the long cloak over her jersey, kissed Marylyn and paced up and down the shack. For every step there was a blow of the hatchet. "Poor Simon! Poor Simon!" she whispered to herself. The bull was lowing again. At last the sound of the hatchet became unbearable.
"I'll see about that, too," he declared. "He must be another sample of imported manners." They heard the cheery grinding of a coffee-mill. As if struck by a thought, she looked toward the shack. "It's about time for me to go in," she said, a little flurried. Then, "Won't won't you come, too, and take a snack with us? Marylyn'd like to see you." "Marylyn!" He had read her meaning.
At the same moment Clark looked up. "Hi, Jim" he commanded. "C'mon over and help us with this bottle. I guess there's not much left, but there's one all around." Nancy, the man from Savannah, Marylyn Wade, and Joe Ewing were lolling and laughing in the doorway. Nancy caught Jim's eye and winked at him humorously.
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