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Sally Dows by Bret Harte
page 152 of 203 (74%)
Mallory's. Stopped there, I reckon. No! pushin' on again. Hear
'em grinding along the gravel over Hamilton's trailin's? Stopped
agin--that's before Somerville's shanty. What's gone o' them now? Maybe
they've lost the trail and got onto Gray's slide through the woods. It's
no use lookin'; ye couldn't see anything in this nigger dark. Hol' on!
If they're comin' through the woods, ye'll hear 'em again jest off here.
Yes! by thunder! here they are."

This time the clatter and horse-hoofs were before them, at the very
door. A man's voice cried, "Whoa!" and there was a sudden bound on the
veranda. The door opened; for an instant the entrance appeared to be
filled with a mass of dazzling white flounces, and a figure which from
waist to crown was impenetrably wrapped and swathed in black lace.
Somewhere beneath its folds a soft Spanish, yet somewhat childish voice
cried, "Tente. Hol' on," turned and vanished. This was succeeded by the
apparition of a silent, swarthy Mexican, who dropped a small trunk at
their feet and vanished also. Then the white-flounced and black-laced
figure reappeared as the departing wagon rattled away, glided to
the centre of the room, placed on the trunk a small foot, whose
low-quartered black satin slipper seemed to be held only by the toe,
threw back with both hands the black lace mantilla, which was pinned by
a rose over her little right ear, and with her hands slightly extended
and waving softly said, "Mira caballeros! 'Ere we are again, boys! Viva!
Aow ees your mother? Aow ees that for high? Behold me! just from Pike!"

Parks and Brace, who had partly risen, fell back hopelessly in their
chairs again and gazed at the figure with a feeble smile of vacuous
pain and politeness. At which it advanced, lowered its black eyes
mischievously over the table and the men who sat there, poured out a
glass of the liquor, and said: "I look towards you, boys! Don't errise.
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