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Updated: June 7, 2025
"That hand's a day an' a half older than these killings. Hit's Sam Woodhull's wagon. Well, the Pawnees like enough counted 'coup on the man that swung that hand up for a sign, even if hit wasn't one o' their own people." "Listen, men," he concluded, "hit was Woodhull's fault.
Woodhull's life chance was not worth a bawbee. It was his enemy who saved it once again, for inscrutable but unaltered reasons of his own. "Drop that, Jackson!" called Banion. "Do as I tell you! This man's mine!" Cursing himself, his friend, their captive, the horse, his gun and all animate and inanimate Nature in his blood rage, the old man, livid in wrath, stalked away at length.
Meanwhile the school was being conducted by Miss Baylis, who for five blissful weeks reigned supreme, while "hope" hinted a permanent one. But, alas! nothing is so delusive as human hope. That city across the sea settled Miss Baylis' plans, and Miss Woodhull's future. Over there she could chuck books at the heads of dignified judges and glory in seeing the old gentlemen dodge.
Banion caught at the rein too late, ran after too slow, of course. The girl was silent, shaken, but still riding. No footman could aid her now. With a leap, Banion was in the saddle of Woodhull's horse, which had been left at hand, its bridle down.
But as all thoroughbred animals are thin-skinned, so are all the short-bred pachydermatous, whereby they endure and mayhap arrive at the manger well as the next. True, even Woodhull's vanity and self-content had everything asked of them in view of his late series of mishaps; but by now he had somewhat chirked up under rest and good food, and was once more the dandy and hail fellow.
Woodhull's motion to throw our vote and our train for Captain Wingate and the big train," said he. "We'll ratify his captaincy, won't we?" The nods of his associates now showed assent, and Wingate needed no more confirmation. "In general, too, I would ratify Captain Wingate's scheme. But might I make a few suggestions?" "Surely go on." Wingate half rose.
Miss Baylis, whose room was in the main building with the seniors had repaired thither to enforce compliance with Miss Woodhull's commands. No easy task, for some of the girls were long past baby days and resented baby treatment. The other teachers also had their hands full.
Then, instead of joining her companions in Miss Woodhull's reception room, where tea was to be served to pupils and guests, she hurried into her outdoor garments, and slipped out of a side door, made her way around the house to a clump of fir trees in which she could watch undetected all who left the main entrance of Leslie Manor. She did not have to wait long.
Threading the way past many feast fires, he did find the Wingate wagons at length, did find Molly Wingate. But there his memory failed him. With a skinny hand at Sam Woodhull's collar, he flung him forward. "Here, Miss Molly," said he, "this thing is somethin' Major Banion sont in ter ye by me. We find hit stuck in the mud. He said ye're welcome."
Everything was cut and dried. All things ordered from Miss Woodhull's austere standpoint. No wonder that the school harbored "Pettys" and "Eleanors" and "Electras" and a few other oddities. Until this year it had never sheltered a "Beverly," and this same Beverly was likely to prove, though with no such intention upon her part, its Waterloo.
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