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Updated: July 17, 2025
Braden took it, with more swinging bows, and a sweep of his floppy headgear. "Glad t' meet you," he smiled, "Miss-a-a-a-Miss " "Lancaster's they name," prompted the section-boss, all good nature. " Lancaster. Glad t' meet you both." Dallas nodded, and drew her sister away to the wagon-seat in the corner.
She showed him how to knot the length of rawhide which she had produced from under the wagon-seat to one end of his share of the blanket. Her own fingers were busy with the other half meanwhile. "Into your saddle now, Pratt. Take the right-hand side of the trail. Ride as fast as you can toward the river when I give the word. Go a mile, at least."
"That young Pratt Sanderson is some smart boy believe me!" he said to Frances, who elected to ride within earshot of the wagon-seat for the first mile or two. "How is that?" she asked, curiously. "They tell me it was him found the place where the chest had been put aboard that punt." "What punt?" "The boat the feller escaped in with the chest," said Mack.
Hold your mules, Mack," she called to the grumbling teamster. "I'm going to make a flare." "Better do somethin' mighty suddent, Miss," growled the man. She spurred Molly up to the wagon-seat and there seized one of the blankets. "Got a sharp knife, Pratt?" she asked, shaking out the folds of the blanket. "Yes." "Slit this blanket, then lengthwise. Halve it," urged Frances. "And be quick."
But these are only the setting for that little girl on the wagon-seat with white face and big dark eyes, under the curl-shadowed forehead. Jondo stared hard toward the hills in the southeast. Then he turned to my uncle with grim face and burning eyes; His was a wonderful voice, clear, strong and penetrating. But in danger he always spoke in a low tone. "I've watched those dust-whirls for an hour.
"Don't try to tell me you stuck 'em behind that wagon-seat on purpose to trip him. You never knowed he was comin'." "Well, no, I didn't exactly," admitted Racey, with a sly smile. "Those boots were laid out all special for you." "For me?" "For you." "But why for me?" Perplexedly. "Because, Swing, old settler, I didn't like you this afternoon.
Hank Simpson, who was on his way over from the Little River railroad station with a load of merchandise, heard the roar, and sprang from his wagon-seat. He ran to his horses' heads. But no sooner had he seized the bits of the frightened animals than he let go. He recognized the girl who sped past him. He clambered back into his wagon and whipped his team into a dead run.
“Just as you say, mam,” said Jake, “but I hate to think of Krajiek getting a leg of that old rooster.” He tramped out through the long cellar and dropped the heavy door behind him. After breakfast grandmother and Jake and I bundled ourselves up and climbed into the cold front wagon-seat.
I could hardly wait to see what lay beyond that cornfield; but there was only red grass like ours, and nothing else, though from the high wagon-seat one could look off a long way. The road ran about like a wild thing, avoiding the deep draws, crossing them where they were wide and shallow.
Setting down the bags by the side of the wagon, he wiped the perspiration from his brow, and then, taking a peculiar key from his pocket, he proceeded to throw back the wagon-seat and to unlock the iron chest beneath it.
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