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Updated: June 11, 2025
"Dad, I suspect you'd better take a look at Pink Pressley under the big oak-tree. I've just given him a biff in the solar plexus, or mighty near it." On the Bridge All through July the growing heat of summer forced the people of the low country up into the mountains in search of an altitude where humidity is not a factor in the sum total of suffering.
The fall of feet on crackling twigs, and the slapping of smitten shrub-leaves broke the thick silence that falls on the earth with night. To Pink Pressley, crouching at the entrance of his cave, the sound of approaching steps was a threat.
The judge did this unconsciously, without thinking, and scarcely knowing that he did do it; for he was a plain man, rather awkward and very absent-minded, and deeply absorbed in the study of his profession. William Pressley did it with deliberate intention and self-consciousness, as he did everything that he deemed fitting.
The cabin nearest Cedar House contained two rooms, and was used by its master, Judge Knox, for his own bedroom and law office. There was a still larger cabin somewhat more distant from the main building, which was intended for the use of his nephew, William Pressley, on the marriage of that young lawyer to Ruth.
Philip Alston laid a restraining hand on his arm, and even William Pressley uttered a warning word. In the presence of the girl there must not be a violent word, much less a violent deed, no matter what the feelings of the men might be, and no matter what might come after.
With all their perseverance they could not cover much ground, for the ascent is sharp enough to clutch the lungs, and the mist covered for them a world of stumbling-blocks. "H'm," grunted the leader, Pink Pressley. "They oughter be a black oak about here with a varmint hole in hit."
"Especially when the minions of the law are after them," grinned Patton. "Ah, you've betrayed yourselves," cried Sydney. "I know it was you two boys who hid Pink Pressley when the revenue men were chasing him the last time." "The last time?" John asked the question. "Oh, Pink used to be a chronic moonshiner. He seems to be a reformed pirate now," said Patton. "He must be in love."
I hear, too, that the troops are already moving upon the Shawnee encampment." "Have you heard anything more about the attorney-general's offering his services? Is it decided that he will go?" asked William Pressley. He spoke more quickly and with more spirit than was common with him. And he sank back with an involuntary movement of disappointment when Philip Alston shook his head.
They could now be heard approaching with that sad, slow, solemn rhythm that subdued beat, beat, beat, of horses' feet which has fallen on all our bruised hearts as an awful part of the funeral march. She ran out of the room and downstairs, drawing her skirt away from Miss Penelope's frightened grasp, and passing William Pressley, as if his restraining words had been no more than the gusty wind.
It was Bob who spoke first: "What about Pressley?" Von Rittenheim looked questioningly at Sydney, who nodded. "He's dead, Bob." A ray from the setting sun found its way to the bed and lighted up the dying man's face. "Kind of sudden for him, too," he mused. "Did he live any time at all?" "No. Your bullet went through his heart. He must have died instantly."
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