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Snow-Bound at Eagle's | Bret Harte | |
Chapter IV |
Page 7 of 9 |
"Utter a cry that might frighten these women, and by the living God they'll rush in here only to find you lying dead on the floor of the house you'd have polluted." He grasped the whip and laid the lash of it heavily twice over the ruffian's shoulders. Writhing in suppressed agony, the man fell imploringly on his knees. "Now, listen!" said Lee, softly twirling the whip in the air. "I want to refresh your memory. Did you ever learn, when you were with me--before I was obliged to kick you out of gentlemen's company--to break into a private house? Answer!" "No," stammered the wretch. "Did you ever learn to rob a woman, a child, or any but a man, and that face to face?" "No," repeated Manuel. "Did you ever learn from me to lay a finger upon a woman, old or young, in anger or kindness?" "No." "Then, my poor Manuel, it's as I feared; civilization has ruined you. Farming and a simple, bucolic life have perverted your morals. So you were running off with the stock and that mustang, when you got stuck in the snow; and the luminous idea of this little game struck you? Eh? That was another mistake, Manuel; I never allowed you to think when you were with me." "No, captain." "Who's your friend?" "A d--d cowardly nigger from the Summit." "I agree with you for once; but he hasn't had a very brilliant example. Where's he gone now?" "To h-ll, for all I care!" |
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Snow-Bound at Eagle's Bret Harte |
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