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Brand, Max, 1892-1944

"The Seventh Man"


"Well," murmured Buck, "Bart doesn't seem to have changed much from the old
days."
She laughed slowly, letting her mind run back through such happiness as
they could not understand and when she looked up she seemed to debate
whether or not it would be worth while to let them in on the delightful
secret. The moment she dwelt on the burning logs they gazed at her and then
to each other with utter amazement as if they sat in the same room with the
dead come to life. No care of motherhood had marked her face, but on the
white, even forehead was a sign of peace; and drifting over her hands and
on the white apron across her lap the firelight pooled dim gold, the wealth
of contentment.
"If you'd been here today you would have seen how changed he is. We had a
man with us whom Dan had taken while he was running from a posse, wounded,
and kept him here until he was well, and--"
"That's Dan," murmured Lee Haines. "He's gold all through when a man's in
trouble."
"Shut up, Lee," cut in Buck. He sat forward in his chair, drinking up her
story.
"Go on.


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