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Updated: June 2, 2025
"I'm hungry, too, for some of the nice sweet charlock rookster that your cook makes me and I eats in the afternoon, right now. I waked up in the night and wanted it and you, too, Phyllie, and I wouldn't have old Doug or Roxy, neither. Now, it is always night time and Roxy wouldn't go and call you. Won't you stay with me always and read me about smallpox like you promised? "Always night now!"
But now I'm getting well, you have to show them you're not interested in me. Isn't that about it?" "Yes." "But you don't have to show me, too, do you?" "Am I not courteous?" "I ain't worrying any about your courtesy. But, look here, Phyllie. Have you forgotten what happened in the kitchen that night you helped me to escape?" She flashed him one look of indignant reproach.
The intruder stopped, his hand still on the handle, aware that there were others in the room. "Who is it?" Phyllis breathed, stricken almost dumb with terror. "It's Slim. Hope I ain't buttin' in, Phyllie." Unconsciously he had given her the cue she needed. "Well, you are." She laughed nervously, as might a lover caught unexpectedly. "It's it's Phil," she pretended to pretend. "Oh, it's Phil."
"Is I going to be blind, Phyllie, and kin they be a blind doctor, if I am?" he asked, with his baby mouth set with the Byrd family expression, the first time I had ever seen it on his face. "Oh, no, Lovelace Peyton, No!" I exclaimed, hugging him up closer. "A great big doctor is coming on the cars in just a few days to make you well."
"I guess there's a lot between him and you that you didn't tell me," he jeered. Slim grinned, not at all maliciously. "I reckon that's right. I don't need to ask you now, Phyllie, who it was I found with you in the kitchen." "He was just going," she protested. "Sure, and I busted into the good-bys right inconsiderate." "Go ahead, Slim. I'm only a girl.
"Go on, Phyllie, tell more," he would groan as I stopped for breath and on I would go piling inflammation on suppuration. Finally, after what seemed an age, the doctor drew a long sigh and looked up at me with a kindly expression that I knew meant "saved."
Phil and Tom Dixon had quietly circled round so as to cut off Weaver's retreat in case he attempted one. "He's got the rustler with him," Tom Dixon cried quickly. "Goddlemighty, so he has. We'll make a clean sweep," the Southerner cried, his eyes blazing. "Then you'll destroy the man who was ready to give his life for mine," his daughter said quietly. "What's that? How's that, Phyllie?"
"But kin a doctor be a blind man, Phyllie," he asked again, with his mouth still set. "Yes, Lovelace Peyton, if you are the blind man," I answered as positively as I felt. It is true for if he is blind, then there will be a blind doctor in the world and a famous one at that.
They were twins, without other near relatives except their father, and the tie between them was close. "What is it, Phyllie? Why didn't you stay where we left you?" "I was afraid for you. And I rode a little nearer. Then he came straight toward me and I rode away. I could hear him crashing through the mesquite. When I reached the trail of Jim's mine, I followed it, for I knew he would be here."
She looked at him, then looked away. "You don't need me now and I have my work to do." "But I do need you, Phyllie." It was the first time he had ever spoken the diminutive to her. He let out the word lingeringly, as if it were a caress. The girl felt the color flow beneath her dusky tan. She changed the subject abruptly. "None of the boys are here. How am I to get you back to your room?"
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