After he drank out of the spring that bubbled from
under the bluff he told himself it alone was worth the money.
"Looks right down on Bostil's place," Slone soliloquized, with glee. "Won't he
just be mad! An' Lucy! . . . Whatever's she goin' to think?"
The more Slone looked around and thought, the more he became convinced that
good fortune had knocked at his door at last. And when he returned to
Brackton's he was in an exultant mood. The old storekeeper gave him a nudge
and pointed underhand to a young man of ragged aspect sitting gloomily on a
box. Slone recognized Joel Creech. The fellow surely made a pathetic sight,
and Slone pitied him. He looked needy and hungry.
"Say," said Slone, impulsively, "want to help me carry some grub an' stuff?"
"Howdy!" replied Creech, raising his head. "Sure do."
Slone sustained the queerest shock of his life when he met the gaze of those
contrasting eyes. Yet he did not believe that his strange feeling came from
sight of different-colored eyes. There was an instinct or portent in that
meeting.
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