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Parrish, Randall, 1858-1923

"Beth Norvell A Romance of the West"

Before Brown attained to the surface, the lady had safely
captured the straying pony and swung herself lightly into the saddle.
Squaring his broad shoulders with surprise as he came out, his face
flushed, his lips set firm, the young giant laid restraining fingers on
her gloved hand.
"Y-y-you really m-mean it?" he asked, eagerly, as though fearing the
return to daylight might already have altered her decision. "C-can I
c-call on you wh-wh-where you s-s-said?"
She smiled sweetly down at him, her eyes picturing undisguised
admiration of his generous proportions, and frank, boyish face.
"Si, si, senor. _Sapristi_, why not? 'T is I, rather, who 'fraid you
forget to come."
"Y-you n-need n't be," he stammered, coloring. "S-senorita, I sh-shall
never f-f-forget this day."
"_Quien sabe_?--poof! no more vill I; but now, _adios_, senor."
She touched her pony's side sharply with the whip, and, standing
motionless, Stutter watched them disappear over the abrupt ledge. Once
she glanced shyly back, with a little seductive wave of the gauntleted
hand, and then suddenly dropped completely out of view down the steep
descent of the trail.


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