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Updated: May 23, 2025
It was years now since Mary had given a thought to the deserted garden and cabin the clearing was at the trail's end and no one ever took it, for it led nowhere. But now, to Mary's astonished eyes, the garden appeared almost as well planted as her own, and from the chimney of the tumble-down cabin a lazy curl of smoke rose.
"I propose to get out of here to-day," Mr. Sprudell announced, with hauteur. "Indeed?" inquired Uncle Bill calmly. "Where do you aim to go?" "I'm going back to Ore City on foot, if need be I'll walk!" Uncle Bill explained patiently: "The trail's wiped out, the pass is drifted full of snow, and the cold's a fright. You'd be lost inside of fifteen yards. That's loco talk." "I'm going to get up."
She proceeded to Bristol and moored as near as possible to Trail's wharf, to which she was consigned. Mr. Trail, who could survey his ship from his counting-house windows, straightway took boat and came up her side, and gave the hand of welcome to Captain Franks, congratulating the Captain upon the speedy and fortunate voyage which he had made. Franks was a pleasant man, who loved a joke.
Trail assumed a lugubrious countenance befitting the tragic compliment with which he prepared to greet the young Virginian; but the latter answered him very curtly, declined his offers of hospitality, and only stayed in Mr. Trail's house long enough to drink a glass of wine and to take up a sum of money of which he stood in need.
One day as he was thus engaged, tracking an unsuspecting savage, he came upon the fellow in the act of hurling a spear at a wounded white man who crouched in a clump of bush at the trail's side. The white was one whom Tarzan had often seen, and whom he recognized at once.
"We've about got down to the wolf basis." He said it half in defiance of the trail's fierce lessoning; but it was truer than he knew. They built up the fire to frighten off the wolves, but the Colonel had his rifle along when they went over and crawled into their sleeping-bag. Half in, half out, he laid the gun carefully along the right on his snow-shoes.
The dog heard and louder came the answering note, a deep tremulous boom through the woods that meant to the older man's trained ear that he was on the run. "That's old Boney shore's yer born!" the father cried, "an' he ain't got no doubts 'bout hit nother. He's got his head in the air. The trail's so hot he don't have ter nose the ground.
If you're going to be obstinate, there's no other plan. Besides, you see, the trail's rough and I couldn't go very fast." "I'm beaten," said Jim. "You will do what you like. You're a good sort, Carrie, and if you find the job too hard, you can stop." "I may find it hard, but I don't know if I'll stop. Anyhow, your control is gone.
I got a team of dawgs down the bank. You ought to allow to start in ten minutes, an' we ought to make it back in less'n three days because the trail's broke. I'm goin' down to the dawgs now, an' I'll look for you in ten minutes." Tom Daw pulled down his earflaps, drew on his mittens, and passed out. "Damn him!" Linday cried, glaring vindictively at the closed door.
By the trail's wide curve and the shelving land he perceived that they were skirting the edge of inland waters; more than this he knew nothing save that, through vista after vista, mile by mile, her flying feet beckoned him onward, and that her heart was singing to his the last wild defiance of the almost-won.
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