Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Cowmen and Rustlers: A Story of the Wyoming Cattle Ranges by Edward Sylvester Ellis (the little red hen read aloud .txt) 📖
- Author: Edward Sylvester Ellis
Book online «Cowmen and Rustlers: A Story of the Wyoming Cattle Ranges by Edward Sylvester Ellis (the little red hen read aloud .txt) 📖». Author Edward Sylvester Ellis
How Sterry longed for the presence of Vesey!
In a natural manner he sauntered up the ridge, as if his intention was to return to the camp-fire, that being the course most likely to dissipate any misgiving on the part of the other.
The latter made no response, and Sterry kept on, thinking:
"I'm rid of him, any way, and ought to have less trouble with others that may wish to ask questions."
But, glancing over his shoulder, he was startled to observe that the man, instead of moving off, as he had supposed, was standing motionless in the gloom, as if studying him.
"By gracious!" concluded the youth, "he must have noticed my voice, for, not knowing Smith, how could I imitate it?"
The situation would have made any one uneasy, but he did not hasten nor retard his footsteps until he reached the top of the ridge, and was able to observe the camp-fire clearly.
It was small, as has been said, but five or six figures were lolling about it, smoking, talking, and passing the dismal hours as inclination prompted. Other forms were moving hither and thither, some of them quite close to where Sterry had halted, though none paid him any attention.
The young man was looking for an opening by which he could make his way beyond the lines without attracting attention. The best prospect seemed to be the stretch of prairie extending from the front of the house toward the Big Horn Mountains.
"No one appears to be on the lookout there—"
At that instant each arm was tightly gripped, and the man with whom he had exchanged words but a few minutes before said:
"Mr. Smith, please go with us to the fire; my friend here is Smith, and he is the only one in our party with that name; maybe you are his double."
It was useless to resist, and Sterry replied:
"You know there are several Smiths in this country, and I ought to have the privilege of wearing the name without objection."
"We'll soon see," replied the first captor.
Within the next minute Sterry was marched in front of the camp-fire, where the full glare fell upon his countenance.
Then a howl of exultation went up, for more than half of the rustlers in the group recognized him.
CHAPTER XXXIV. — OUT IN THE NIGHT.
Enough has been already told for the reader to understand the scheme which Jennie Whitney, with the help of her mother, attempted to carry out for the benefit of the besieged cattlemen.
With her cloak around her shoulders and her saddle supported on one arm, she passed quickly from the rear of her home to the stables, only a short distance away. She had been on the alert for the signal of Duke Vesey, and, seeing it not, was prepared to encounter some one else.
In this she was not disappointed, for at the moment of catching sight of the dark mass where the horses were sheltered the figure of a man loomed into view as though he had risen from the ground. She stopped short, and observed, dimly, the forms of two others just behind him.
"Halloo!" exclaimed the nearest, "how is this?"
With peculiar emotions the young lady recognized the voice of Larch Cadmus. She hoped this was a favourable omen, and was quick to turn it to account.
"Larch, is that you?" she asked, peering forward as if uncertain of his identity.
"I declare, it is Miss Jennie!" he exclaimed, coming forward; "how is it you are alone?"
"Mother did not wish to come with me," replied the daughter, trying to avoid the necessity of direct deceit. "She will probably leave the house pretty soon."
The fellow was plainly embarrassed, despite the protecting gloom which concealed his features. Jennie knew him to be one of her most ardent admirers, though she had never liked him. Her hopes were now based upon making use of his regard for her.
"You have come out, Jennie, I suppose," said he, offering his hand, which she accepted, "so as not to be in the house when the—ah, trouble begins."
"O, I know it will be dreadful; I want to go as far away as I can—do you blame me, Larch?"
"Not at all—not at all; and I hope, Jennie, you don't blame me for all that your folks have suffered."
"Why, Larch, why should I blame you?" asked the young lady, coming fearfully near a fiction in making the query, for she knew many good reasons for censuring him in her heart. "But how soon do you intend—that is, how soon do the rest of your folks intend to attack the cowmen?"
"We—that is, they—expected to do so long ago, but there have been all sorts of delays; it will come pretty soon now."
"Where are you to place mother and me?"
"Over the ridge, yonder; you will be out of danger; you need fear nothing; why should you, for your mother will be with you and your brother will be with us, so that he can take no part in the fight."
He made no reference to Mont Sterry, and she was too wise to let fall a hint of her anxiety concerning him.
"But, Larch, suppose, when you set fire to the house, as I heard your folks intended, our people rush out and attack you?"
"Do they intend to do that?" he asked.
"I am sure I don't know; but you can see, if they do, the shooting will be going on all around mother and me."
"You can pass farther out on the plain or take shelter in the stable, among the horses."
"But that may be too late," interposed Jennie, in well-feigned alarm.
"You can take refuge here now."
"I can't bear to stay in the stable, for the horses will become terrified when the shooting begins; they may break loose and prove more dangerous than the flying bullets."
There was sense in this objection, and the rustler saw it. He was anxious to propitiate the young woman, whom he admired so ardently.
"Well, my dear, what would you like to do?"
"Now, Larch, you won't laugh at me if I tell you," she replied, in her most coquettish manner.
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