Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 6, 2025
I know it of myself. I have turned rancher, and live beyond sight of the sea. Yet I can stay away from it only so long. After several months have passed, I begin to grow restless. I find myself day-dreaming over incidents of the last cruise, or wondering if the striped bass are running on Wingo Slough, or eagerly reading the newspapers for reports of the first northern flights of ducks.
A figure shot forwards from a corner. "I will go with Oshondonto," came the voice of Wingo, the waif of the Crees. The eye of the mikonaree flashed round in contempt on the tribe. Then suddenly it softened, and he said to the lad: "We will go together, Wingo."
Although three years of hard, frugal life had made his muscles like iron, they had only mellowed his temper, increased his flesh and rounded his face; nor did he look an hour older than on the day when he had won Wingo for his willing slave and devoted friend.
Oh, God! give him back to me!" he sobbed. "What right had I to risk his life for theirs? I should have shot the first man that refused to go.... Wingo, speak! Wake up! Come back!" The sweat poured from him in his desperation and weakness. He said to himself that he had put this young life into the hazard without cause.
Billy Rufus the cricketer had won the game, and somehow the Reverend William Rufus Holly the missionary never repented the strong language he used against the Athabascas, as he was bringing Wingo back to life, though it was not what is called "strictly canonical."
Even Silver Tassel acknowledged his power, and he as industriously spread abroad the report that the mikonaree had raised Wingo from the dead, as he had sown dissension during the famine. But the result was that the missionary had power in the land, and the belief in him was so great, that, when Knife- in-the-Wind died, the tribe came to ask him to raise their chief from the dead.
Then it could have only been minutes ago. Trembling to his feet, he staggered over to Wingo, he felt the body, he held a mirror to the lips. Yes, surely there was light moisture on the glass. Then began another fight with death William Rufus Holly struggling to bring to life again Wingo, the waif of the Crees.
And the dead boy there, Wingo, who had risked his life, also dead how long? His heart leaped ah, not hours, only minutes, maybe. It was sundown as unconsciousness came on him Indians would not stay with the dead after sundown. Maybe it was only ten minutes five minutes one minute ago since they left him!... His watch! Shaking fingers drew it out, wild eyes scanned it. It was not stopped.
Then came the struggle for Wingo of the Cree tribe, a waif among the Athabascas, whose father had been slain as they travelled, by a wandering tribe of Blackfeet. Never was there a braver rivalry, although the odds were with the Indian-in lightness, in brutal strength.
Silver Tassel was gaining on him, they were both overhauling the boy; it was now to see which should reach Wingo first, which should take him to shore.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking