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Updated: June 24, 2025
"Well, you get Berrie to take up your case and you're all right. She has the say about who goes on the force in this forest." It was late in the afternoon before Wayland started back to Meeker's with intent to repack his belongings and leave the ranch for good.
"Good night," he returned, with sincere liking. "Who is that?" Norcross heard her companion ask. She replied in a low voice, but he overheard her answer, "A poor 'lunger, bound for Meeker's and Kingdom Come, I'm afraid. He seems a nice young feller, too." "They always wait till the last minute," remarked the rancher, with indifferent tone.
The work of Nathan Cook Meeker in all that makes for industrial and social progress and moral ideals contributed incalculable aid to Colorado. All over the state the tourist is asked, "Have you seen Greeley? That is our ideal town." During all the years of Mr. Meeker's residence in Colorado he remained a staff correspondent of the "Tribune."
From this spot he could see the back of Greaves's store, at a distance probably too far for a rifle bullet to reach. Before him, as far as the store, and on each side, extended the village common. In front of the store ran the road. Jean's position was such that he could not command sight of this road down toward Meeker's house, a fact that disturbed him.
But Honora continued to go to the dancing class, where she treated Mr. Meeker with a hauteur that astonished him, amused Virginia Hayden, and perplexed Cousin Eleanor. Mr. Meeker's cringing soul responded, and in a month Honora was the leading spirit of the class, led the marches, and was pointed out by the little dancing master as all that a lady should be in deportment and bearing.
How many times in the May or June mornings, as soon as he had had his breakfast, have I seen him digging worms and getting ready to go a-fishing up Montgomery Hollow or over in Meeker's Hollow, or over in West Settlement! You could always be sure he would bring home a nice string of trout. Occasionally I was permitted to go with him.
Meeker's hung loose on her lithe thinness, their amplitude confined about her middle by a black crochet shawl which she had crossed over her chest and tied in the back. "A lot of that big building's down," she cried, as she ran up. "I could see it from the window, all scattered across the open space behind it."
The happy girl, even in the excitement of meeting her lover, did not forget the stranger. She gave him her hand in parting, and again he thrilled to its amazing power. It was small, but it was like a steel clamp. "Stop in on your way to Meeker's," she said, as a kindly man would have done. "You pass our gate. My father is Joseph McFarlane, the Forest Supervisor. Good night."
But privately let me tell you that he is failing not fast, but gradually, surely failing. Let us return to the window. Mrs. Meeker's carriage is at the door. In a few moments Arabella herself comes out and enters it, and drives away. Positively she does not appear in the least changed since we last saw her. In fact, her health was never so good as at present.
'Lias Mullins, inspecting them, became reflective: "Them's from away back in old Ben Meeker's time," he said, "or mebbe furder than that. The' ain't been no scissors made by hand in this country since my time, an' a good while before. I guess old Ben was a good hand to have things made.
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