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Updated: May 31, 2025
Prather, I believe it was, who recommended him." "Prather for all the world! Just like the man; he is always on the still hunt for something a little bit exotic. Next thing we know, we'll be having the reverend gentleman served up to us in a novel. But why the bunny? It is no end unmerciful, a day like this, as hot as ermine, and without any of the glory." "What does a curate do?" Reed queried.
"Sí!" answered Firio, as if he had just as soon there were a regiment against them. He was happy beyond words. He patted his rifle barrel; he spread out his big red bandanna beside his elbow and on it nicely arranged a couple of extra charges of cartridges. Prather remained flat on the bottom of the arroyo, overwhelmed. It was some time before he could speak. "I I don't understand!
Jack sang out; and this to Prather's face after he had turned around in the elevator. In the second while the elevator man was swinging to the door, Jack and Prather were fairly looking at each other. Prather had seen that Jack wanted to speak to him, even if he had not heard the call. His answer was a smile of mixed recognition and satire.
I know that you are going to keep the bargain that Prather and I have made; and think of me as over the pass and very happy as I write this, in the confidence that at last all accounts have been balanced and we can both turn to a fresh page in the ledger. When Jack, after he had received the transfer, gave the letter to Prather to read, Prather was transfixed with incredulity.
"Yes, Mister Prather," he added, when, after toiling painfully on his belly for the few feet he had to go, Prather lay with his stark face near Firio's; a face strangely like that of John Wingfield, Sr. when he saw Jasper Ewold from the drawing-room doorway. "For your life, Mister Prather! Sí! Up a little more! Chin high as mine, so! Eye on sight, so!"
On the other hand, however, Prather himself was offering to Reed no small amusement.
An hour later, as the doctor entered his reception-room he was startled by a pacing figure in the throes of impatience, who turned on him without formality in an outburst: "Dr. Bennington, you asked me in Little Rivers if I had ever met John Prather. I have met him! Who is he? What is he to me?" The doctor's suavity was thrown off its balance, but he did not lose his presence of mind.
He went in as silent partner, as I was in the saloon at Goldfield; as a partner with a minority interest." John Prather paused to laugh to himself over his victory, while the movement of palm on palm was rapid and prolonged. "Our arrangement amounted to the commercial division of territory for the family, which I had suggested," he went on with appreciative irony.
He felt a weaving of his muscles, a tightening of his nerves, as if waiting on the spark of will, and all the strength that he had built in the name of the store was madly tempted. But no! John Prather was not to blame, any more than himself. He would listen to John Prather, as justice listens to evidence, and endure his stare to the end. "Yes, your mother knew," continued Prather.
"Bullet hit a rock under sand!" said Firio, as Jack hastened to assist Prather, who had come to a halt at the very bottom of the arroyo and lay gasping on his side. Jack took hold of Prather's wrists to draw his hands away from the wound. "My God! Out here, like a rat in a trap!" Prather groaned. "When I have all life before me!
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