There
were fuzzy Canadian horses pulling buckboards sagging under the weight
of all the men who could cling on. There were top carriages and even a
hayrack well loaded with men.
Occasionally the old man lifted his gaze from his reading and eyed the
dusty wayfarers benignantly. He liked to know that the boys were turning
out to the caucus. His perch was a lofty one. He could see that the one
long street of Fort Canibas was well gridironed with teams--horses
munching at hitching-posts, wagons thrusting their tails into the
roadway.
It was quiet at Thornton's end of the village. There was merely twitter
of birds in the silver poplar that shaded his seat, busy chatter of
swallows, who were plastering up their mud nests under the eaves of the
old blockhouse across the road from him. It was so quiet that he could
hear a tumult at the other end of the village; it _was_ a tumult for
calm Fort Canibas. A raucous voice bellowed oratory of some sort, and
yells and laughter and cheers punctuated the speech. Thornton knew the
voice, even at that distance, for the voice of "War Eagle" Niles.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25