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Hill, Grace Livingston, 1865-1947

"The Girl from Montana"

But no
friendly door flung open wide as they came near, and at first they thought
the cabin deserted, till a candle flare suddenly shone forth in the
bedroom, and then Benedict dismounted and knocked.
After some waiting the old man came to the door holding a candle high
above his head. His face was haggard and worn, and the whole place looked
dishevelled. His eyes had a weary look as he peered into the night and it
was evident that he had no thought of ever having seen them before:
"I can't do much fer ya, strangers," he said, his voice sounding tired and
discouraged. "If it's a woman ye have with ye, ye better ride on to the
next ranch. My woman is sick. Very sick. There's nobody here with her but
me, and I have all I can tend to. The house ain't kept very tidy. It's six
weeks since she took to bed."
Elizabeth had sprung lightly to the ground and was now at the threshold:
"Oh, is she sick? I'm so sorry? Couldn't I do something for her? She was
good to me once several years ago!"
The old man peered at her blinkingly, noting her slender beauty, the
exquisite eager face, the dress that showed her of another world--and
shook his head:
"I guess you made a mistake, lady. I don't remember ever seeing you
before--"
"But I remember you," she said eagerly stepping into the room, "Won't you
please let me go to her?"
"Why, shore, lady, go right in ef you want to. She's layin' there in the
bed. She ain't likely to get out of it again' I'm feared.


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