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Hough, Emerson, 1857-1923

"The Way of a Man"

Long, heavy-hooped earrings such as women at
that time wore, and which heretofore I had never known her to employ,
she now disported. Brown as her face was now becoming, one might indeed,
at a little distance, have suspected her to be rather a daughter of the
Plains than a belle of civilization. I made some comment on this. She
responded by sitting the more erect in her saddle and drawing a long,
deep breath.
"I think I shall throw away my gloves," she said, "and hunt up some
brass bracelets. I grow more Indian every day. Isn't it glorious, here
on the Plains? Isn't it _glorious_!"
It so seemed to me, and I so advised her, saying I wished the western
journey might be twice as long.
"But Mr. Orme was saying that he rather thought you might take an escort
and go back down the river."
"I wish Mr. Orme no disrespect," I answered, "but neither he nor any one
else regulates my travel. I have already told you how necessary it was
for me to see your father, Colonel Meriwether."
"Yes, I remember. But tell me, why did not your father himself come
out?"
I did not answer her for a time. "My father is dead," I replied finally.
I saw her face flush in quick trouble and embarrassment.


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