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Updated: May 23, 2025
One of the partners had been a Wetherford boy, so when there came a renewal of interest in maple sugar, and the best confectioners were ready to do it honor, the finest quality being at a large premium, this partner remembered that there never was any sugar made in Wetherford of such melting and delicious flavor as from the trees on the old Pinkham farm.
"What nonsense we talk of heredity, of family," he thought. Standing over the wasted body of his patient, he asked again: "Why let even Lize know? To her Ed Wetherford is dead. She remembers him now as a young, dashing, powerful horseman, a splendid animal, a picturesque lover. Why wring her heart by permitting her to see this wreck of what was once her pride?"
Every few minutes, all night long, he'd come pattering and whining round the door of the tent didn't come in, seemed just trying to ask how things were coming. He was like a child, lonesome and grieving." It was long after dark when they entered the canon just above the cabin, and Wetherford was shivering from cold and weakness.
Wetherford, put it away! She'll come back!" The violin played on. "We all know each other here, you see, Mr. Harkless," Miss Hinsdale smiled benignantly. "They didn't bother Mr. Wetherford Swift," said the widower. "Not that time. Do you hear him? 'Could ye come back to me, Douglas'?" "Oh, but it isn't absence that is killing him and his friends," cried one of the young women.
"Come out on the veranda," suggested Cavanagh, "and I'll show you the hills I must climb." Lee accepted innocently; but as the young people left the room Mrs. Enderby looked at her hostess with significant glance. "There's the lady Ross rode down to meet. Who is she?" "Her mother is that dreadful old creature that keeps the Wetherford Hotel in Roaring Fork." "No!" exclaimed Mrs. Enderby.
"Very well," said he, "I'll do as you say. There's no use of our both taking chances." It was beginning to rain, and the tent was dark and desolate, but as the fire in the little stove commenced to snarl, and the smoke to pour out of the pipe, the small domicile took on cheer. Wetherford knew how to care for the sick, and in the shelter of the canvas wall developed unforeseen vigor and decision.
"No, can't anybody make me believe Ed Wetherford is alive." Lee Virginia started. "Who says he's alive?" "Now don't get excited, girl. He ain't alive; but yet folks say we don't know he's dead. He jest dropped out so far as yore ma is concerned, and so far as the county is concerned; but some thought you was with him in the East."
The ranger watched the fugitive, as he started back over the trail in this desperate defiance of his pursuers, with far less confidence in the outcome than he had put into words. "All depends on Wetherford himself. If his nerve does not fail him, if they take the uniform for granted, and do not carry the matter to the Supervisor, we will pull the plan through."
The sun was still shining warmly aslant the heavens; the wind, crisp and sweet, wandered by on laggard wings, the conies cried from the ledges; the lambs were calling and in the midst of it one tattered fragment of humanity was heaping the iron earth upon another, stricken, perhaps, by the same dread disease. Wetherford himself paused to moralize.
They were standing at the gate of the corral, and the roar of the mountain stream enveloped them in a cloud of sound. Wetherford spoke slowly: "I hate to lose my girl, now that I've seen her, but I guess you're right; and Lize, poor old critter!
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