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Updated: June 29, 2025
Wickersham wished it, he was prepared to prove it. Wickersham's face fell. "Matheson's been to him." "Or some one else," said Mr. Plume. "That Bluffy hates you like poison. You've got to do something and do it quick." Wickersham glanced up at Plume. He met his eye steadily. Wickersham's face showed the shadow of a frown; then it passed, leaving his face set and a shade paler.
Obediently then they collected in a small knot behind him, murmurous, gutterally grumbling; waiting his further word they squatted on their haunches, staring hungrily at their chief who stood in seeming surrender, head bowed before them. The coming of Wickersham's men was not a thing of degrees.
"He is a gentleman," she said coldly. "Oh, is he? He was a stage-driver." Mrs. Lancaster drew herself up. "If he was " she began. But she stopped suddenly, glanced beyond Wickersham, and moved over to the further side of the carriage. Just then a hand was laid on Wickersham's arm, and a voice behind him said: "I beg your pardon."
Wickersham's men were back on the river, but that bridge would continue to hold! And while they worked, while Elliott and her father watched spellbound, blindly Barbara Allison turned, with no thought of what she was doing, and walked blindly into the brush. The river was running clear by dusk when they raised the first hue and cry for her.
It was Dexter Allison this time who noticed it, and hours later, when he and Wickersham sat and faced each other in the downstairs room in the house on the hill, which served as Allison's office, he remembered and recognized it. "You wanted to talk with me?" Wickersham inquired as he entered the room that evening. Somehow Wickersham's unending politeness had always irritated Allison.
Drive home," she said to the coachman, in a tone intentionally loud enough for her friend to hear. Ferdy Wickersham strolled on down the street, and a few minutes later was leaning in at the door of Mrs. Wentworth's carriage, talking very earnestly to the lady inside. Mr. Wickersham's attentions to Louise Wentworth had begun to be the talk of the town. Young Mrs.
Barbara, at Wickersham's side, glancing now and then in their direction, knew well what subject was engrossing them to the exclusion of all else. But Allison's acceptance of that arrangement as time passed grew less patient. For a time he was content to stroll along with the rest content with his facetious comments on Elliott's explanation of this matter or that.
There's nothing but woods and water." She pointed out across the valley toward a mound-like outline yellow under the moon; pointed into the north and asked another question. "Is that part of the embankment?" she wanted to know. "Is that the direction in which Mr. Wickersham's timber lies?" The man nodded. "Just a few miles up through that notch," he told her.
The story of the trouble between Mr. and Mrs. Wentworth was soon public property. Wickersham's plans appeared to him to be working out satisfactorily. Louise Wentworth must, he felt, care for him to sacrifice so much for him. In this assumption he let down the barriers of prudence which he had hitherto kept up, and, one evening when the opportunity offered, he openly declared himself.
"Men have dropped out of sight before now, in those woods," he husked. "I'll win, or I'll see that he lies and rots in one of his own sink-holes." A big voice is a wonderful weapon at times. Allison's booming bass made Wickersham's threat seem only mean and hollow when the heavy man leaped to his feet and shook a finger under that high-bridged nose. "No you won't!" he snapped. "No you won't!
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