She went to the city nearly every day now, and seldom returned before
dark. Somehow he felt that his grip was slipping. He was standing
in front of the Tavern. She had waved her hand to him, and had
smiled gaily, but it was not the first time that week she had failed
to stop and repeat her usual invitation for him to accompany her,
even though she knew he would politely decline. He resented this
oversight. How could she know that he hadn't changed his mind about
going to the city? As a matter of fact, he had changed it. He would
have gone like a shot. Indeed, he had dressed with that very object
in view,--and she had gone by with a casual wave of her hand.
His annoyance was increased by the remark of Mr. Nichols, who was
standing at the top of the steps at the time.
"Thought you said you was going up to town, Courtney," said the
old man, with a detestable grin on his wrinkled visage.
"I didn't say anything of the kind," snapped Courtney, and strode
off angrily.
His stroll,--and his reflections,--took him up the old Indian trail
along the bank of the river. He wanted solitude. He wanted to be
where he could talk without fear of being overheard. There was much
that he had to say to himself.
The rarely used path through the willows and underbrush ran along
the steep bank, sometimes within a few feet of water. Once before
he had walked a couple of hundred yards over this ancient, hard-packed
trail of Tecumseh's people, but had been turned back by the sight
of a small snake wriggling off into the long grass ahead of him.
Pages:
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207