Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Each, for reasons of her or his own, cordially disliked the Bugologist, and each could not but welcome evidence to warrant such dislike. It is human nature. Janet Wren had strong convictions that the man was immoral, if for no other reason than that he obviously sought Angela and as obviously avoided her.
Then, scrambling through a rocky labyrinth, impossible for hoof or wheel, had made a short cut to the head waters of the Beaver. Now Blakely, riding from the agency eastward slowly, should have found that Wingate trail before the setting of the first day's sun, and his followers could not have been far behind. It began to look as though the Bugologist had never reached the road.
One letter was addressed to Captain, or Miss Janet, Wren the other to Mrs. Plume. Sandy again. Four of the days stipulated by Lieutenant Blakely had run their course. The fifth was ushered in, and from the moment he rode away from the bivouac at the tanks no word had come from the Bugologist, no further trace of Angela. In all its history the garrison had known no gloom like this.
To hear these worthies talk, the Bugologist, next to "Princess Natzie," was the central figure of the Red Rock campaign the one officer, "where all had done so well," whose deeds merited conspicuous mention. Byrne knew this better than Wren. Plume knew it not as well as Byrne, perhaps.
And though in no way whatever, by look, word, or deed, had Blakely transgressed the strictest rule in his bearing toward the major's wife, both major and wife became incensed at him, Plume because he believed the Bugologist still cherished a tender passion for his wife or she for him; Clarice, it must be owned, because she knew well he did not.
Blakely's up and asking for him," and, feeling presently a glow of warmth coursing in his veins, the Bugologist roused to a sitting posture and began to mumble questions. And then a burly shadow appeared at the entrance, black against the ruddy firelight in the cañon without, where other forms began to appear.
He has gone now in spite of me, and no one knows where." It was then nearly twelve o'clock, and "the Bugologist" was still abroad. Dinner, as usual since his mishap, had been sent over to him from the officers' mess soon after sunset.
Now, he thought it grand that the Bugologist had thrown all consideration of peril to the wind and had hastened to their aid to share their desperate fortunes. But Wren knew not how to tell of it. He took courage and hope when Blakely spoke of Solalay's loyalty, of young Alchisay's daring visit and his present mission.
That salad looked tempting as I sliced the rosy pimiento on top and piled it in the blue and white bowl. The ranger who contributed the lettuce was an invited guest, and he stood on one foot, then on the other, while the dressing was mixed. Even White Mountain hovered over it anxiously. Just then came a knock! A very famous "bugologist" had come to call on us.
Caught in the bushes a few rods above was the folded blanket, and, lodged in a crevice, still higher, lay the felt-covered canteen, stenciled with the number and letter of Wren's own troop. It was the horse of the orderly, Horn the horse on which the Bugologist had ridden away in search of Angela Wren.
Word Of The Day