SEARCH
0-9 A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Prev | Current Page 396 | Next

Sinclair, Bertrand W., 1881-1972

"North of Fifty-Three"


"Bill, Bill, what made you so long?" she whispered. "I guess it served
me right, but it seemed a never-ending time."
"What made me so long?" he echoed, bending his rough cheek down against
the warm smoothness of hers. "Lord, _I_ didn't know you wanted me. I
ain't no telepathist, hon. You never yeeped one little word since I
left. How long you been here?"
"Since last September." She smiled up at him. "Didn't Courvoiseur's
man deliver a message from me to the mine? Didn't you come in answer
to my note?"
"Great Caesar's ghost--since September--alone! You poor little girl!"
he murmured. "No, if you sent word to me through Courvoiseur I never
got it. Maybe something happened his man. I left the Klappan with the
first snow. Went poking aimlessly over around the Finlay River with a
couple of trappers. Couldn't settle down. Never heard a word from
you. I'd given you up. I just blew in this way by sheer accident.
Girl, girl, you don't know how good it is to see you again, to have
this warm body of yours cuddled up to me again. And you came right
here and planted yourself to wait till I turned up?"
"Sure!" She laughed happily. "But I sent you word, even if you never
got it.


Pages:
384 385 386 387 388 389 390 391 392 393 394 395 396 397 398 399 400 401 402 403 404 405 406 407 408