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Updated: June 11, 2025
They couldn't beat him." "No," said Tom Osby, "they'd think he was square, and that means a lot. They do think he's square; and the boys are goin' to do something for him if they can. Now if he gets back " Constance turned upon him with a glance of swift appeal.
Tom went silently about his preparations for resuming the journey. When he came to put the horses to the wagon tongue, he found Constance sitting there, staring with misty eyes at the distant hills beyond which lay Heart's Desire. Tom Osby paused at the shelter of the wagon cover and backed away. "Something has got to be did," he muttered to himself, "and did mighty blame quick.
Far's I know, I'm the only railroad that don't. I got a box of aigs back there in the wagon, too. Ever see ary railroad back in the States that throwed in ham and aigs? I reckon not." "Twenty dollars extra!" remarked Ellsworth, "You've made the girl laugh." "Man, hush!" said Tom Osby. "Go on to sleep, and don't offer me money, or I'll make you get out and walk."
In the morning the travellers arose with the sun, and after breakfast Tom Osby began methodically to break camp as though preparing for the return up-country. Neither made reference to any event occurring since their arrival, or which might possibly occur in the near future. Dan Anderson silently watched his partner as he busied himself gearing up his horses.
"The fewer there is in on a woman deal the better," said Tom Osby, "and yet it looks like we needed help right now!" The two sat gazing gloomily down the long street of Heart's Desire, and so intent were they that they did not see the shambling figure of Willie the sheepherder coming up the street. Then Tom Osby's gaze focussed him.
Thomas Osby, Esquire, a little farther back in the foot-hills, if he feels like goin' there. Now I reckon Miss Constance makes Mr. Thomas Osby, Esquire, yardmaster at the new deepot." "Of course," assented Constance; and her father nodded. "That'd be fair, and it'd be easy," went on Tom. "We'll fix it up that-a-way, me and Miss Constance not you.
"That old railroad'll shore bust me up a heap if it ever does git in here," remarked Tom Osby one morning in the forum of Whiteman's corral, where the accustomed group was sitting in the sun, waiting for some one to volunteer as Homer for the day. There was little to do but listen to story telling, for Tom Osby dwelt in the tents of Kedar, delaying departure on his accustomed trip to Vegas.
"Of course, I know folks is different," went on Tom Osby, presently. "They come from different places, and have lived different ways. Me, I come from Georgy. I never did have much chanct for edication, along of the war breakin' out. My folks was in the fightin' some; and so I drifted here," "You came from Georgia?" asked Dan Anderson. "I was born farther north.
In an instant she was gone from the room, leaving Tom Osby staring at the flickering fire, now brighter in the advancing shades of evening. In perhaps half an hour Alice Strowbridge reappeared. The rich black laces, and the ripe red rose, and the blazing jewels, all were gone. She was clad in simple white and yes! a blue sash was there.
"She was a-settin' there," said Tom Osby, frowning; "right there at the pianny herself. Can't you see her? Don't you ever sort of imagine things yourself, man?" "God forbid!" said Dan Anderson. "No, I can't imagine things. That's fatal I try to forget things." "Well," said Tom Osby, "I reckon I've been imaginin' things.
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