United States or French Southern Territories ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
As he approached, Rover, spying him, sprang out savagely; but I caught and held him with firm grip, for to strangers he was ever a surly brute. "Is this yere Major Wayland's place?" the man questioned, in a deep, gruff voice, reining in his tired horse, and carelessly flinging one booted foot across the animal's neck as he faced me.
More and more I realized the justice of President Wayland's remark, which had so impressed me at the Yale Alumni meeting just after my return from Europe: that the nation was approaching a ``switching-off place''; that whether we were to turn toward evil or good in our politics would be decided by the great Northwest, and that it would be well for young Americans to cast in their lot with that part of the country.
Wayland's pale face and labored breath alarmed her. She was filled with love and pity, but she pressed forward desperately. As he grew tired, Wayland's boots, loaded with mud, became fetters, and every slope greasy with mire seemed an almost insurmountable barricade. He fell several times, but made no outcry. "I will not add to her anxiety," he said to himself.
There was the coming fall campaign, and Wayland's name as reform candidate, and Wayland's quiet marriage to the daughter of the dead sheep king.
McFarlane winced a little at her daughter's use of Norcross's first name, but she said nothing further at the moment, although she watched Berrie closely while she took off Wayland's shoes and stockings and rubbed his icy feet. "Get him something hot as quick as you can!" she commanded; and Mrs. McFarlane obeyed without a word.
Wayland's head was on a level with the crest of another ledge, his face to the rock, his left hand gripping a shoot of mountain laurel, his right groping the upper rocks. The old man saw the shrub jerk loose, moss, roots and all he held his breath for the coming crash it was all over.
The Ranger whittled the cottonwood branches for a small chip fire, and he boiled enough water to fill the skin bag for the next day's travel; but a high wind was blowing, restless, nagging, gusty, pelting ash dust in their eyes, and not to lose the trail, they had pressed on through the sweltering heat of mid-day. Wayland's muscles had begun to feel hardened to the dryness of knotted whip cords.
Wayland's left arm flung out to ward off the spatter of small stones; then, the right arm had clutched the spindly bole of a creeping juniper his body lurched out, hung, swayed, lifted; and the Ranger disappeared among the shrubbery of the upper trail. The old man took a deep breath. "And this is the Man on the Job," he said. He drew behind his shelter and waited.
"You mustn't worry," I answered, with all the bravery and assurance that I could muster. "Your niece will be thankful to have you with her. Is she one of Mrs. Winn's daughters?" "Oh, no, they ain't able; it's Sister Wayland's darter Isabella, that married the overseer of the gre't carriage-shop.
"No better worse," Wayland answered brokenly, holding fast the hand she offered him. Gently Madelaine drew it away, and began to put on her glove. "I am so sorry," she said, "but you mustn't despair. I am sure she is going to get well." Upon Wayland's sensitive ear the words fell with a hollowness almost unbearable. "She does not care at all," he told himself.
Word Of The Day