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Updated: May 10, 2025
It may have been the Basutos, or Marnham's body-servant, or Footsack, or a spark from the kitchen fire. At any rate it blazed merrily enough notwithstanding the marble walls, as a wood-lined and thatched building of course would do. On the whole I suspected the boy, who may very well have feared lest he should be accused of having had a hand in his master's death.
For the moment I thought you were talking of cattle greenbacked cattle. Guess you surely have the laugh on me." O'Brien nodded. "That's so," he admitted, and Bill closed the door behind him as the saloonkeeper extinguished the second lamp. Big Brother Bill hurried away in the darkness. He swung along with long, powerful strides that roused dull echoes as he moved down the wide, wood-lined trail.
He should have taken his letter and gone back with it. But, fool or not, he was a soldier. Danger made him calm. So he kept his eyes open. The shooting-box was a simple one, built, after the fashion of the mountains, of logs, and wood-lined.
He was trailing his way along the creek bank over the road which led eventually to Spawn City. He was slouching along the wood-lined track at that swinging, laborious gait of a heavy-booted man. And his way lay across the oozy claim of Scipio. But he never reached the claim.
Now it was closer, and as it raced once more for the wood-lined bank the watching eyes made out a deep-laden canoe, low in the water, with a solitary figure plying a skillful paddle. It crept on under the bank.
He fell asleep indeed at once, but woke with a start sometime in the night, with the impression of a sound in his ears. Had he really heard something? Or was it only the tail-end of a dream? Wood-lined houses talk in the night. Was it only the pitch pine whispering of the old free days in the scented woods? He could not be sure, so he lay still and listened.
The wood-lined walls were lit till their conformation was vaguely discernible. The swift stream reflected the yellow rays on the crests of its surging ripples. Then, far in, beyond the mouth of the canyon, the long low foreshore stood out almost plainly to his searching eyes. His task was only at its beginning. He waited just sufficiently long to deliberate his next move.
It occupies its place, a queer, squat sentry, standing midway between the cattle ford and the newer log wagon-bridge lower down the river toward its mouth, where it joins the giant Missouri some two hundred miles distant. It backs into the brush fringing the wood-lined river bank, and is dangerously sheltered from the two great Indian Reservations on the other side of the river.
When Martin returned to the wood-lined sitting room with its large brick chimney, its undergraduate chairs and plain oak furniture, its round thick blue and white mats and disorderly bookcase, Tootles was there, a Tootles with a high chin, a half defiant smile, and honeysuckle at her belt. "Tootles." "Yes?" "Have you been alone all the afternoon?" "Yes." "Oh, nothing.
Arizona displayed considerable astonishment, which found expression in a deprecating avowal. "Say, I guess I'm too much o' the old hand. I didn't jest think o' that." It was all he vouchsafed, but it said a great deal. And the thin face and wild eyes said more. Now they rode on in silence, while they followed the wood-lined trail along the river.
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