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Lahoma By: J. Breckenridge (John Breckenridge) Ellis (1870-1956) |
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by John Breckenridge Ellis
CONTENTS I THE TOUCH OF A CHILD
II BRICK MAKES A MOVE
III FLIGHT
IV AN UNWONTED PRAYER
V A NEW ROBINSON CRUSOE
VI A MYSTERIOUS GUEST
VII RED FEATHER
VIII GETTING CIVILIZED
IX A YOUNG MAN'S FANCY
X THE FLAG OF TRUCE
XI THE HALF OPENED BUD
XII THE BIG WORLD
XIII A SURE ENOUGH MAN
XIV WRITING HOME
XV THE DAY OF FENCES
XVI THE ONYX PIN
XVII BRICK MAKES A STAND
XVIII LIFE ON ONE CONDITION
XIX LIKE LOVERS
XX TOGETHER
XXI THE NORTHER
XXII JOURNEY'S END
XXIII FACING THE MOB
XXIV MINE ENEMY
XXV GLEDWARE'S POSSESSIONS
XXVI JUST A HABIT
CHAPTER I THE TOUCH OF A CHILD "I have given my word of honor my sacred oath not to betray what I
have discovered here." At these words from the prisoner, a shout arose in which oaths and
mocking laughter mingled like the growling and snapping of
hunger maddened wolves. "Then if I must die," Gledware cried, his voice, in its shrill
excitement, dominating the ferocious insults of the ruffians, "don't
kill the child you see she is asleep and she's so young only five.
Even if she were awake, she wouldn't know how to tell about this cabin.
For God's sake, don't kill the little girl!" Since the seizure of Gledware, the child had been lying on the rude
table in the midst of a greasy pack of cards cards that had been
thrown down at the sound of his galloping horse. The table supported,
also, much of the booty captured from the wagon train, while on the
dirt floor beside it were prizes of the freebooting expedition, too
large to find resting place on the boards. Nor was this all. Mingled
with stolen garments, cans and boxes of provisions, purses and bags of
gold, were the Indian disguises in which the highwaymen from No Man's
Land had descended on the prairie schooners on their tedious journey
from Abilene, Kansas, toward the Southwest. In the midst of this confusion of disguises, booty and playing cards,
surrounded by cruel and sensual faces, the child slept soundly, her
lips slightly parted, her cheeks delicately flushed, her face eloquent
in its appeal of helplessness, innocence and beauty. One of the band,
a tall broad shouldered man of middle age, with an immense quantity of
whiskers perhaps worn as a visible sign of inward wildness, was,
despite his hardened nature, moved to remonstrance. Under cover of
lurid oaths and outrageous obscenity, he advanced his opinion that "the
kid" needn't be shot just because her father was a sneak jug spy. "Shut up!" roared a tremendous voice, not directly to the intercessor,
or to the prisoner, but to all present. Evidently it was a voice of
authority, for comparative silence followed the command. The speaker
stepped forward, thrust his fingers through his intensely red shock of
hair, and continued, with one leg thrust forward: "You know I am something of an orator, or I guess you wouldn't of made
me your leader. Now, as long as I'm your leader, I'm going to lead;
but, I ain't never unreasonable, and when talk is needed, I'm copious
enough. I am called 'Red Kimball,' and my brother yonder, he is knowed
as 'Kansas Kimball.' What else is knowed of us is this: that we
wasn't never wont to turn loose a spy when once ketched. Here is a man
who says he is Henry Gledware though God knows if that's so; he comes
galloping up to the door just as we are in the midst of a game. I
stakes all my share of the spoils on the game, and Brick Willock is in
a fair way to win it, that I admit, but in comes this here spy " The prisoner in a frenzied voice disclaimed any purpose of spying. That
morning, he had driven the last wagon of the train, containing his
invalid wife and his stepdaughter for the child lying on the table was
his wife's daughter. At the alarm that the first wagon had been
attacked by Indians, he had turned about his horses and driven
furiously over the prairie, he knew not whither... Continue reading book >>
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Fiction |
Historical Fiction |
Literature |
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