When he observed that he might be seen from the ranchhouse he moved
deep into the cottonwood and there, screened behind some nondescript
brush, continued his examination.
The place was in a state of dilapidation, of approaching ruin.
Desolation had set a heavy hand over it all. The buildings no more
resembled those he had known than daylight resembles darkness. The
stable, wherein he had received his last thrashing from his father, had
sagged to one side, its roof seeming to bow to him in derision; the
corral fence was down in several places, its rails in a state of decay,
and within, two gaunt ponies drooped, seeming to lack the energy
necessary to move them to take advantage of the opportunity for freedom
so close at hand. They appeared to watch Calumet incuriously,
apathetically.
Calumet felt strangely jubilant. A vindictive satisfaction and delight
forced the blood through his veins a little faster, for, judging from
the appearance of the buildings, misfortune must have descended upon
his father. The thought brought a great peace to his soul; he even
smiled when he saw that the bunkhouse, which had sheltered the many
cowboys whom he had hated, seemed ready to topple to destruction. The
smile grew when his gaze went to the windmill, to see its long arms
motionless in the breeze, indicating its uselessness.
Pages:
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29