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Bindloss, Harold, 1866-1945

"Winston of the Prairie"

You would not care for that
tale to spread?"
For a moment the girl's cheeks flamed, then she rose quietly and
crossed the room.
"No," she said, and her aunt stood still, apparently lost in
contemplation, after the door swung softly to. Then she sat down at
the writing table. There was very little in the note, but an hour
after Dane received it that night, a wagon drew up outside Ferris's
farm. Two men went quietly in and found the owner of the homestead
sitting with a sheaf of papers scattered about the table in front of
him.
"Come back to-morrow. I can't be worried now," he said. "Well, why
the devil don't you go?"
Dane laid a hand on his shoulder. "We are waiting for you. You are
coming with us!"
Ferris turned, and stared at them. "Where to?"
"To the railroad," Dane said dryly. "After that you can go just
where it pleases you. Now, there's no use, whatever, making a fuss,
and every care will be taken of your property until you can arrange
to dispose of it. Hadn't you better get ready?"
The grim quietness of the voice was sufficient, and Ferris, who saw
that force would be used if it was necessary, decided that it was
scarcely likely his hired men would support him.
"I might have expected it!" he said. "Of course, it was imprudent to
speak the truth to our leader's niece. You know what I have done?"
"I know what you did the night Courthorne nearly lost his life," said
Dane. "One would have fancied that would have contented you.


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