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A Mountain Woman | Elia W. Peattie | |
The Three Johns |
Page 4 of 13 |
And back and forth, back and forth, in the dimness swayed the body of the woman, hushing her babe. Almost as suddenly as the darkness had fallen, it lifted. The lightning ceased to threaten, and almost frolicked, -- little wayward flashes of white and yellow dancing in mid-air. The wind wailed less frequently, like a child who sobs in its sleep. And at last Henderson could make his voice heard. "Is there anything to build a fire with?" he shouted. "The children are shivering so." The woman pointed to a basket of buffalo chips in the corner, and he wrapped his little companions up in a blanket while he made a fire in the cooking-stove. The baby was sleeping by this time, and the woman began tidying the cabin, and when the fire was burning brightly, she put some coffee on. "I wish I had some clothes to offer you," she said, when the wind had subsided sufficiently to make talking possible. "I'm afraid you'll have to let them get dry on you." "Oh, that's of no consequence at all! We're lucky to get off with our lives. I never saw anything so terrible. Fancy! half an hour ago it was summer; now it is winter!" "It seems rather sudden when you're not used to it," the woman admitted. "I've lived in the West six years now; you can't frighten me any more. We never die out here before our time comes." "You seem to know that I haven't been here long," said Henderson, with some chagrin. "Yes," admitted the woman; "you have the ear-marks of a man from the East." She was a tall woman, with large blue eyes, and a remarkable quantity of yellow hair braided on top of her head. Her gown was of calico, of such a pattern as a widow might wear. |
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A Mountain Woman Elia W. Peattie |
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