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"Now whut in the divil could he be a wantin' wid Buck an' Sammie?" she muttered to herself. "All that story 'bout his bein' Mikky was puttin' it on my eye, I'll giv warnin' to Sammie this night, an' ef Buck's in these pairts he better git out west some'res. The police uv got onto 'im. But hoiwiver did they know he knowed Mikky? Poor little angel Mikky!
Lord knows, we're going to need a power supply badly enough before long " Buck relapsed into moody silence. "What," asked Faragaut, looking around him, "does that mean?" It was McLaurin who told him of the stranger ship, and Kendall's interpretation of its meaning. Slowly Faragaut grasped the meaning behind Buck's strange actions of the past months.
He found the leopard on the buck's back, tearing him with teeth and claw, and the buck running in a circle and bounding convulsively, with the blood pouring down his hide. Then Martin formed a desperate resolution to have the venison for Margaret. He drew his arrow to the head, and buried it in the deer, who, spite of the creature on his back, bounded high into the air, and fell dead.
It suited Buck's ironic humor to ride beside the girl who had just attempted his life. He bore her no resentment. Had the offender been a man, Buck would have snuffed out his life with as little remorse as he would a guttering candle. But her sex and her youth, and some quality of charm in her, had altered the equation. He meant to show her who was master, but he would choose a different method.
Before they had finished their evening meal of buck's flesh the moon was up, and by its light the three white people stared hopelessly at this frowning natural fortification, wondering if they could climb it, and wondering also what terrors awaited them upon its further side.
"It was all I had saved in a year. One of my children is dying at home now and I haven't a cent in the house. I came to see if I could draw out some. The circulars said you could draw it at any time. But they say now I will lose it all." There was a smart kind of kid in the gang I guess he was a newsboy. "I got in twenty-fi', mister," he says, looking hopeful at Buck's silk hat and clothes.
You dig fur enough into that buck's hide an' you'll find cussedness big as a sheep, I'm tellin' you." "Where does he live?" inquired my father. "Lord knows!" responded Cam. "Down to the Kaws' nests, I reckon."
Not a few motor-cars mingled with horsemen and wagons of various sorts in the roadway, but as Buck's glance fell on a big, shiny, black touring-car standing at the curb, he was struck by a sudden feeling of familiarity. Mechanically he noted the license-number. Then his eyes narrowed as he saw the pudgy, heavily-built figure in the tan dust-coat on the point of descending from the tonneau.
I can see him now, as he went limping up and down the vestibule, with his grey hair sticking up in scrubbing-brush fashion, his shrivelled yellow face, and his large dark eyes, that were as keen as any hawk's, and yet soft as a buck's. The whole room was hung with trophies of his numerous hunting expeditions, and he had some story about every one of them, if only he could be got to tell it.
It was not safe for Yellow Bird to remain entirely beyond their protection. There were bears prowling about. And human beasts occasionally found their way through the wilderness. But Slim Buck's face was like a bronze carving in its faith and pride. "Yellow Bird only goes with the good spirits," he assured Jolly Roger. "She does not do witchcraft with the bad.
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