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Brand, Max, 1892-1944

"Trailin'!"

"
He found the thing to say, and he made his voice earnest and low to give
the words wing and sharpness; it was like the bum of the bow string
after the arrow is launched, so tense was the tremor of his tone.
"There are two reasons why I can't leave. The first is Drew. I must get
back to him."
"Why d'you want Drew? Let me tell you, Bard, he's a bigger job than ten
tenderfeet like you could handle. Why, mothers scare their babies asleep
by tellin' of the things that William Drew has done."
"I can't tell you why. In fact, I don't altogether know the complete why
and wherefore. It's enough that I have to meet him and finish him!"
Her fingers interlaced and gripped; he wondered at their slenderness;
and leaning back so that his face fell under a slant, black shadow, he
enjoyed the flame of the firelight, turning her brown hair to amber and
gold. White and round and smooth and perfect was the column of her
throat, and it trembled with the stir of her voice.
"The most fool idea I ever heard. Sounds like something in a dream--a
nightmare. What d'you want to do, Anthony, make yourself famous? You
will be, all right; they'll put up your tombstone by a public
subscription.


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