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Openings in the Old Trail By: Bret Harte (1836-1902) |
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by Bret Harte
CONTENTS
OPENINGS IN THE OLD TRAIL I. A MERCURY OF THE FOOT HILLS
II. COLONEL STARBOTTLE FOR THE PLAINTIFF
III. THE LANDLORD OF THE BIG FLUME HOTEL
IV. A BUCKEYE HOLLOW INHERITANCE
V. THE REINCARNATION OF SMITH
VI. LANTY FOSTER'S MISTAKE
VII. AN ALI BABA OF THE SIERRAS
VIII. MISS PEGGY'S PROTEGES
IX. THE GODDESS OF EXCELSIOR OPENINGS IN THE OLD TRAIL by Bret Harte
A MERCURY OF THE FOOT HILLS
It was high hot noon on the Casket Ridge. Its very scant shade was
restricted to a few dwarf Scotch firs, and was so perpendicularly cast
that Leonidas Boone, seeking shelter from the heat, was obliged to draw
himself up under one of them, as if it were an umbrella. Occasionally,
with a boy's perversity, he permitted one bared foot to protrude beyond
the sharply marked shadow until the burning sun forced him to draw it in
again with a thrill of satisfaction. There was no earthly reason why
he had not sought the larger shadows of the pine trees which reared
themselves against the Ridge on the slope below him, except that he was
a boy, and perhaps even more superstitious and opinionated than most
boys. Having got under this tree with infinite care, he had made up his
mind that he would not move from it until its line of shade reached and
touched a certain stone on the trail near him! WHY he did this he did
not know, but he clung to his sublime purpose with the courage and
tenacity of a youthful Casabianca. He was cramped, tickled by dust and
fir sprays; he was supremely uncomfortable but he stayed! A woodpecker
was monotonously tapping in an adjacent pine, with measured intervals of
silence, which he always firmly believed was a certain telegraphy of
the bird's own making; a green and gold lizard flashed by his foot
to stiffen itself suddenly with a rigidity equal to his own. Still HE
stirred not. The shadow gradually crept nearer the mystic stone and
touched it. He sprang up, shook himself, and prepared to go about
his business. This was simply an errand to the post office at the
cross roads, scarcely a mile from his father's house. He was already
halfway there. He had taken only the better part of one hour for this
desultory journey! However, he now proceeded on his way, diverging only to follow a fresh
rabbit track a few hundred yards, to note that the animal had doubled
twice against the wind, and then, naturally, he was obliged to look
closely for other tracks to determine its pursuers. He paused also,
but only for a moment, to rap thrice on the trunk of the pine where the
woodpecker was at work, which he knew would make it cease work for
a time as it did. Having thus renewed his relations with nature, he
discovered that one of the letters he was taking to the post office had
slipped in some mysterious way from the bosom of his shirt, where he
carried them, past his waist band into his trouser leg, and was about to
make a casual delivery of itself on the trail. This caused him to take
out his letters and count them, when he found one missing. He had been
given four letters to post he had only three. There was a big one in
his father's handwriting, two indistinctive ones of his mother's, and a
smaller one of his sister's THAT was gone! Not at all disconcerted,
he calmly retraced his steps, following his own tracks minutely, with
a grim face and a distinct delight in the process, while
looking perfunctorily for the letter. In the midst of this slow
progress a bright idea struck him. He walked back to the fir tree where
he had rested, and found the lost missive. It had slipped out of his
shirt when he shook himself. He was not particularly pleased. He knew
that nobody would give him credit for his trouble in going back for
it, or his astuteness in guessing where it was. He heaved the sigh of
misunderstood genius, and again started for the post office. This time
he carried the letters openly and ostentatiously in his hand... Continue reading book >>
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Fiction |
Literature |
Short stories |
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