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Updated: May 3, 2025
"Why, you know things must go through Dawson," said Lady Shuttleworth pouncing on her letters again. "I'd be plagued to death if they didn't." "But apparently this is the stranger within our gates. Isn't he German?" "His name is. Dawson will be quite kind to him." "Dawson's rather a brute I fancy, when you're not looking." "Dearest, I always am looking." "He must be one of Pearce's lodgers."
He did not consider it necessary to go further; and taking a bedroom at Ullerton in the same little hotel from which Fritzing had ordered the conveyance that was to drive them their last seven miles he went to bed, it being close on midnight, with Mr. Pearce's address neatly written in his notebook. This, at present, is the last of the detective.
Here was somber and terrible sign of the wildness of the border clan that Kells could send out for a parson to marry him to a woman he hopelessly loved, there in the presence of murder and death, with Pearce's distorted face upturned in stark and ghastly significance.
Faro, most of the time. Bad luck, too." Red Pearce's coarse face twisted into a scornful sneer. It must have been a lash to Kells. "Pearce says you're chasing a woman," retorted the bandit leader. "Pearce lies!" flashed Cleve. His action was as swift. And there he stood with a gun thrust hard against Pearce's side. "JIM! Don't kill him!" yelled Kells, rising. Pearce's red face turned white.
Suddenly she heard two or more of the men speak at once, and then, low and clear: "Gulden, where'n hell are you goin'?" This was Red Pearce's voice. Joan glanced back. Gulden had started down the trail after her. Her heart quaked, her knees shook, and she was ready to run back. Gulden halted, then turned away, growling. He acted as if caught in something surprising to himself.
And without ever glancing at Joan he jerked a thumb, in significant gesture, at her. Joan leaned back against the wall, trembling and cold all over. She read Pearce's mind. He knew her secret and meant to betray her and Jim. He hated Kells and wanted to torture him. If only she could think quickly and speak! But she seemed dumb and powerless. "Pearce, what do you mean?" demanded Kells.
Our appetites were damped, never satisfied; and we had no vegetables. Caro equina. Horseflesh. Mr. Pearce's chapter on food at the school in his excellent Annals of Christ's Hospital is very interesting, and records great changes. Rotten-roasted or rare, i.e., over-roasted or under-done. The good old relative. Aunt Hetty, or more properly, Sarah Lamb.
"The second poor gentleman, who was a patient here, did die in the house, I believe, but that was months ago," she said, "and I understand that he had Laura Pearce's room," mentioning one of the girls, who had a specially cheerful apartment. It seemed quite natural that a sick man, confined to his bed, should occupy a large and sunny room, so I thought no more of the matter.
Pearce's own uncles. She, therefore, withdrew into her kitchen, and being a person of little culture crudely expressed her wonder by thinking "Lor." To which, after an interval of vague meanderings among saucepans, she added the elucidation, "Foreigners." Half an hour later Lady Shuttleworth's agent, Mr. Dawson, was disturbed at his tea by the announcement that a gentleman wished to speak to him.
The first settler was James Pearce, a noted character in southwestern annals, son of the founder of Pearce's Ferry across the Colorado at the mouth of Grand Wash, at the lower end of the Grand Canyon. James Pearce was a pioneer missionary with Jacob Hamblin among the Paiutes of the Nevada Muddy region and the Hopi and Navajo of northeastern Arizona.
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