To one who knew Kavanagh it seemed to typify his attitude toward the
world. He had seen other men clutching and grabbing. He had clutched and
grabbed with the best of them. When one deals with squatter claims, tax
titles, forgotten land grants and other complications that tie up the
public domain, it often happens that the man who waits for the right to
prevail finds the more unscrupulous and impetuous rival in possession,
and claiming rather more than the allowed nine points at that. So Dennis
Kavanagh had played the game as the others had played it. When one
looked up at the house, with its back against the woods, staring with
its surly window-eyes, one saw the resoluteness of the intrenched
Kavanagh put into visible form.
The dogs came racing to meet Harlan. They knew him as their mistress's
friend.
She was sitting on the broad porch-rail when he rode up, and he swung
his horse close and patted her cheek as one greets a child. She smiled
wistfully at him.
"Am I impudent, and all the things your grandfather said? I've been
thinking it all over, Big Boy, as I was riding home.
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