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Updated: June 7, 2025
I only telegraphed to you to know where we should meet, and received your message to come here." "You never wrote me from San Francisco?" "Never." Stacy looked concernedly at his friend. Was he in his right mind? He had heard of cases where melancholy brooding on a fixed idea had affected the memory.
He hesitated to call, knowing that if Tad Butler were still asleep at that hour of the day it was because he was tired out and needed rest badly. Ned strode over to Stacy's tent. "Wake up," he commanded, pinching one of the fat boy's big-toes. "Get out," mumbled Stacy sleepily, at the same time kicking viciously with the disturbed foot. Thus encouraged, Ned pulled the other big-toe.
"The thing's a fraud!" exclaimed Ned disgustedly, throwing the divining rod away. Stacy picked it up. "I know why it doesn't work," he said. "Why?" demanded the other boys. "'Cause 'cause there isn't any water to make it work," he replied wisely. The boys groaned. Shortly after returning to camp, they found the fat boy standing over a pail of water holding the stick above it.
The captain may have had a suspicion, but if so he kept it to himself, making no reply to the report of his two scouts. For reasons best known to himself Stacy did not give his rattlesnake imitation again. But every little while a broad grin would grow on his countenance, which the fat boy would suppress as quickly as possible. "This is too good a thing to be nipped in the bud," he muttered.
There was Stacy Brown, hatless, his face red and perspiring, and in front of him a snarling bob-cat at bay. They saw at once that the animal had been wounded, two of its legs apparently having been broken, while blood flowed freely from a wound in its side.
He examined it again eagerly, fixedly, tremblingly. A wild impulse to summon Barker or Stacy on the spot was restrained with difficulty and only when he remembered that they could not help him. Then he began to oscillate between a joy and a new fear, which now, for the first time, began to dawn upon him.
For the next moment, as they moved towards their rooms, she said impatiently, "Well, you don't tell what Stacy said. Did you get the money?" I grieve to say that this soul of truth and frankness lied only to his wife. Perhaps he considered it only lying to HIMSELF, a thing of which he was at times miserably conscious.
I'll help you along until you can do them by yourself. You ought to cultivate your imagination, you know. Miss Stacy says so. Only we must take the right way. I told her about the Haunted Wood, but she said we went the wrong way about it in that." This was how the story club came into existence.
Finally the gate at the lane-end closed upon them, and the discomfited public rode on to the village, tormented by keen envy of the few who had been bidden to the funeral-dinner. When Mary alighted from her horse, the old lawyer approached her. "My name is Stacy, Mrs. Barton," he said, "and Miss Lavender will have told you who I am. Will you let me have a word with you in private?"
Two ponies suddenly dashed out from the low-lying smoke cloud. One of their riders was swinging his sombrero and cheering; the other was firing his rifle after the fleeing savages. "Hooray, it's Santa Claus," howled Stacy, fairly beside himself with excitement. Even Tad caught something of his companion's spirit of enthusiasm. He swung his hand and started galloping toward the two horsemen.
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