The Lions of the Lord - A Tale of the Old West by Harry Leon Wilson
page 59 of 447 (13%)
page 59 of 447 (13%)
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boat to let the old man know he had come. But on the seat was another
than his father. He recognised the man, and called to him. "What are you doing there, Brother Keaton? Where's my father?" The man had shrunk back under the wagon-cover, having seemingly been frightened by the soldiers. "I've taken your father's place, Brother Rae." "Did he cross with Brother Wright?" "Yes--he--" The man hesitated. Then came an interruption from the shore. "Come, clear the gangway there so we can load! Here are some more of the damned rats we've hunted out of their holes!" The speaker made a half-playful lunge with his bayonet at a gaunt, yellow-faced spectre of a man who staggered on to the boat with a child in his arms wrapped in a tattered blue quilt. A gust of the chilly wind picked his shapeless, loose-fitting hat off as he leaped to avoid the bayonet-point, and his head was seen to be shaven. The crowd on the bank laughed loud at his clumsiness and at his grotesque head. Joel Rae ran to help him forward on the boat. "Thank you, Brother--I'm just up from the fever-bed--they shaved my head for it--and so I lost my hat--thank you--here we shall be warm if only the sun comes out." |
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