. The spenders : a tale of the third generation. d in his saddle, pulling the leg up to a rest-ful position. Then he spat, musingly, and lookedback down the canon aimlessly, throwing his eyesfrom side to side where the grey granite ledgesshowed through the tall spruce and pine trees. But the old man knew he had been sent for. Well, Billy Brue, whats doin? Billy Brue squirmed in the saddle, spat again,as with sudden resolve, and said: Why, — uh — Danl J. — hes dead. The old man repeated the words, dazedly. Danl J. — hes dead; — why, who else is dead,too? Billy Brues emphasis, cunningly contrive
. The spenders : a tale of the third generation. d in his saddle, pulling the leg up to a rest-ful position. Then he spat, musingly, and lookedback down the canon aimlessly, throwing his eyesfrom side to side where the grey granite ledgesshowed through the tall spruce and pine trees. But the old man knew he had been sent for. Well, Billy Brue, whats doin? Billy Brue squirmed in the saddle, spat again,as with sudden resolve, and said: Why, — uh — Danl J. — hes dead. The old man repeated the words, dazedly. Danl J. — hes dead; — why, who else is dead,too? Billy Brues emphasis, cunningly contrived byhim to avoid giving prominence to the word dead, had suggested this inquiry in the firstmoment of stupefaction. Nobody else dead — jest Danl J. — hes dead. Jest Danl J. — my boy — my boy Danl dead! His mighty shape was stricken with a curiousrigidity, erected there as if it were a part of themountain, flung up of old from the earths innertragedy, confounded, desolate, ancient. Billy Brue turned from the stony interrogation. JJ/ELL, BILLY BRUE, WHATS DOW ? THE SPENDERS 29 of his eyes and took a few steps away, little wind sprang up among the higher trees,the moments passed, and still the great figure stoodtransfixed in its curious silence. The leatherscreaked as the horse turned. The messenger, withan air of surveying the canon, stole an anxiousglance at the old face. The sorrowful old eyeswere fixed on things that were not; they lookedvaguely as if in search. Danl! he said. It was not a cry; there was nothing plaintivein it. It was only the old man calling his son:David calling upon Absalom. Then there was achange. He came sternly forward. Who killed my boy? Nobody, Uncle Peter; twas a Hewas goin over the line and theyd laid out atKaslo fer a day sos Danl J. could see about aspur the Lucky Cuss people wanted — andmaybe it was the climbin brought it on. The old man looked his years. As he came nearerBilly Brue saw tears tremble in his e
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, bookidspenderstale, bookyear1902
