The Fighting Edge. William MacLeod Raine
in Denver where you got into a small room and it traveled up with you till you got out and looked down four stories from a window.
“If we go it’ll have to be right away,” she said. “Without tellin’ anybody.”
“Yes,” he agreed.
“I could go back to the house an’ get my things.”
“While I’m gettin’ mine. There’s nobody at the camp but Lon, an’ he always sleeps after he gets through work. But how’ll we get to Bear Cat?”
“I’ll bring the buckboard. Dad’s away. I’ll leave him a note. Meet you in half an hour on Twelve-Mile Hill,” she added.
It was so arranged.
June ran back to the house, hitched the horses to the buckboard, and changed to her best dress. She made a little bundle of her other clothes and tied them in a bandanna handkerchief.
On a scrap of coarse brown wrapping-paper she wrote a short note:
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
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