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Curwood, James Oliver, 1879-1927

"The Courage of Marge O'Doone"

Tara and
I ran away that night. Why do you suppose they want to put Tara in a
cage? Do you think Brokaw was buying _Tara_ to put into that cage? He
said 'she,' not 'he'."
He looked at her again. Her eyes were not so fearless now.
"Was he buying Tara, or me?" she insisted.
"Why do you have that thought--that he was buying _you_?" David asked.
"Has anything--happened?"
A second time a fury of blood leapt into her face and her lashes
shadowed a pair of blazing stars.
"He--that red brute--caught me in the dark two weeks ago, and held me
there--and kissed me!" She fairly panted at him, springing to her feet
and standing before him. "I would have screamed, but it was in the
house, and Tara couldn't have come to me. I scratched him, and fought,
but he bent my head back until it hurt. He tried it again the day he
gave my uncle the gold, but I struck him with a stick, and got away. Oh,
I _hate_ him! And he knows it. And my uncle cursed me for striking him!
And that's why ... I'm running away."
"I understand," said David, rising and smiling at her confidently, while
in his veins his blood was running like little streams of fire. "Don't
you believe, now, all that I've told you about the picture? How it tried
so hard to talk to me, and tell me to hurry? It got me here just about
in time, didn't it? It'll be a great joke on Brokaw, little girl.


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