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Bower, B. M., 1871-1940

"The Quirt"


She watched the firelight dancing on Al's somber face, softening its
hardness, making it almost wistful when he gazed thoughtfully into the
coals. She thrilled when she saw how watchful he was, how he lifted his
head and listened to every little night sound. She was afraid of him as
she feared the lightning; she feared his pitiless attitude toward human
life. She would find some way to outwit him when it came to the point of
marrying him, she thought. She would escape him if she could without too
great a risk of being shot. She felt absolutely certain that he would
shoot her with as little compunction as he would marry her by
force,--and it seemed to Lorraine that he would not greatly care which
he did.
"I guess you're tired," Al said suddenly, rousing himself from deep
study and looking at her imperturbably. "I'll fix yuh so you can
sleep--and that's about all yuh can do."
He went over to his saddle, took the blanket and unfolded it until
Lorraine saw that it was a full-size bed blanket of heavy gray wool.
The man's ingenuity seemed endless. Without seeming to have any extra
luggage, he had nevertheless carried a very efficient camp outfit with
him.


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