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Sinclair, Bertrand W., 1881-1972

"Big Timber A Story of the Northwest"

I saw him on their launch as they passed the _Waterbug_."
"Yes?" Fyfe said. "Quick work. I didn't even know about the shooting
till I came in here to-night about dark. Well," he snapped his fingers,
"exit Monohan. He's a dead issue, far as we're concerned. Wouldn't you
like something to eat, Stella? I'm hungry, and I was dog-tired when I
landed here. Say, you can't guess what I was thinking about, lady,
standing there when you came in."
She shook her head.
"I had a crazy notion of touching a match to the house," he said
soberly, "letting it go up in smoke with the rest. Yes, that's what I
was thinking I would do. Then I'd take the _Panther_ and what gear I
have on the scows and pull off Roaring Lake. It didn't seem as if I
could stay. I'd laid the foundation of a fortune here and tried to make
a home--and lost it all, everything that was worth having. And then all
at once there you were, like a vision in the door. Miracles _do_
happen!"
Her arms tightened involuntarily about him.
"Oh," she cried breathlessly. "Our little, white house!"
"Without you," he replied softly, "it was just an empty shell of boards
and plaster, something to make me ache with loneliness."
"But not now," she murmured. "It's home, now."
"Yes," he agreed, smiling.
"Ah, but it isn't quite." She choked down a lump in her throat. "Not
when I think of those little feet that used to patter on the floor. Oh,
Jack--when I think of my baby boy! My dear, my dear, why did all this
have to be, I wonder?"
Fyfe stroked her glossy coils of hair.


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