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Updated: June 1, 2025
Of course, both Forester and Marco advanced very carefully. When they had entered, they found but one man tending the mill. He was seated on a square block of wood, near the fire, eating some bread and cheese. As Forester and Marco advanced towards him, he looked up and bade them good evening. "Will you allow us to come in and see the mill?" said Forester. "By all means," said the millman.
I suspect that they're the leading troublemakers down in that hall. Blanchard, if you're not afraid of your own men, come along!" He clapped the millman on the shoulder and led the way toward the door.
Do you know, these fellows with poetic, chivalrous natures are hard boys to bring to reason in certain practical matters?" "I was just telling Despeaux that I never saw much poetry sentiment in Stewart Morrison," affirmed the millman. Senator Corson's condescending smile assured Mr. Blanchard that he was all wrong. "He was much in our family as a boy.
"I hope so!" But his next statement, made while the millman glared and muttered oaths, fell far short of sanity in Blanchard's estimation. "I'm fully convinced that one of the inalienable rights of the people is ownership of water-power. We franchise-proprietors ought to content ourselves with being custodians, managers, lessees of that power that comes from the lakes that God alone owns."
Into the darkened arena, crossed by dazzling shafts of light, speeds a big white motor car. Bird Millman descends, tossing aside her cloak. "A fairy on a cobweb" the press agents call her, and as two humble clowns watch entranced through the peepholes in the big doors the phrase seems none too extravagant.
Apparently the man in the cabin did not recognize the runner, for now he flung the door wide and stepped out. As he did so he saw the millman, whom he recognized, and swiftly pulled a gun and shot at him. Even as he did so the younger man leaped upon him, caught his wrist and wrenched the weapon from his hand. He did the unexpected thing.
It dipped down over a crest and sought a hollow in which ran a mountain stream, spread out over a rocky bed and running swiftly. At its bank they paused. It was plain that their man had taken to the water to retard pursuit, if such came. The millman threw up his hand and called the others around him. "Before we go any farther," he said, "let's find out how many shooting irons are in this crowd.
In a work recently published in London, by Captain Millman, are to be found some of the most thrilling scenes, from life in the tropics, it has ever been our fortune to meet with.
He was harboring a pretty large-sized grudge of his own in the case of Morrison, and it was easy to put malice into the report he gave the Senator. "But hold on!" protested Corson. "You're making Stewart out to be a radical as red as any of them!" "I can't help that, Senator," retorted the millman.
"If you're sure of that," the drill runner said, "the best thing to do is for us to leave the trail over here a ways and come up to the old camp from behind it. He might be on the watch for this trail." "Good again!" asserted the millman. "Here, you take the lead now and we'll follow."
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