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Updated: May 17, 2025
"You fellows must have been drowned out last night; the log over the South Branch is gone in the freshet; we had to get round the best way we could. Step up, Freme," he said. "I want you to know Mr. Thayor. This is Freme Skinner, Mr. Thayor, and this is Hite Holt, and there's no better anywhere round here." Thayor stretched out both hands and caught each extended palm in a hearty grip.
Thayor had repeated Leveridge's words to Alice, and she had replied: "Well, if you are fool enough to believe in Leveridge I wash my hands of the whole affair." Margaret, as Thayor had expected, was radiantly happy over the idea of the camp. She and her father talked of nothing else, Margaret taking an absorbed interest in every detail concerning the new home.
An hour later the two, with Bergstein, stood on the veranda before the latter's departure. "Is there anything else you can think of that we need, Billy?" Thayor asked. "That's about all I can think of," returned Holcomb, glancing over the long list that Bergstein held in his hand. "He was a hard-working man," Bergstein casually remarked, referring to the uncle who had so suddenly succumbed.
That was too dangerous a secret to be entrusted to anyone not of the woods. These discoveries had revealed a condition of things Thayor little dreamed of, and yet the facts were undeniable. Within the last month two horses had died; another had gone so lame that he had been given up as incurable. Leaks had also been frequent in expensive piping.
Just above it lay a point of boulders out of which a dense clump of hemlocks struggled for a rough existence the boulders about their gnarled roots splitting the course of the mountain torrent right and left. "Thar, Mr. Thayor!" shouted the trapper in a voice that could be heard above the roar of water.
Thayor folded his napkin in an absent way, laid it carefully beside his plate, unfolded it again and tossed it in a heap upon the table, and said with a certain tenderness in his tone: "And did he get away to Canada, Holcomb?" "No, sir; his little girl fell ill, and he wouldn't leave her." "And the woman, Holcomb was she worth it?" continued Thayor.
As they entered the living room Alice raised her eyes. Margaret put down a treatise on forestry that Holcomb had lent her, rose, and said good-night. She did not relish the thought of general conversation when the doctor was present especially after the experiences she had had. "Ah, Alice," said Thayor, as he crossed the room to where his wife was sitting, "I have a bit of news for you, my dear.
His honest, cheery frankness appealed to her; moreover, she thought him exceedingly handsome. "That's where the line crosses," said Holcomb, pointing quickly to a blazed hemlock. "Oh, look, mother quick!" cried Margaret. "We're in Big Shanty tract now, dear," explained Thayor. "The line we have just passed strikes due east from here and runs how far, Billy?"
Griscom, up to you immediately; he will see that we get fair play legally, but as to the question of what and what not to buy, I leave that entirely to your judgment; what money you need you have but to ask Mr. Griscom for." "I'm afraid they will hold the tract at a high price, Mr. Thayor," said Holcomb. "Whatever they hold it at within reason I'll pay," declared the millionaire.
"But you must have learned something of him. Tell me I want to know. I never felt so sorry for anyone in my life." Holcomb looked Thayor squarely in the face, read its sincerity and said slowly, lowering his voice: "He is still in hiding was the last time I saw him." "When was that?" asked Thayor, his eyes boring into the young woodsman's.
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