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Connor, Ralph, Pseudonym, 1860-1937

"A Tale of Saskatchewan"


"He came for me--for us, Mr. Brown, through that awful storm,"
cried Marjorie penitently; "and is it broken? Oh, Kalman,
how could you?"
But Kalman still answered nothing. His dream was passing from him.
She was restored to her world and was no longer in his care.
"And here's his mine," cried Marjorie, turning Jack toward the
black seam.
"By Jove!" cried Mr. Penny, "and I never saw it. You never showed
it to me."
But during those hours spent in the cave Kalman and Marjorie had
something other to occupy their minds than mines. Jack French
examined the seam closely and in growing excitement.
"By the Lord Harry! Kalman, did you find this?"
Kalman nodded indifferently. Mines were nothing to him now.
"How did you light upon it?"
And Kalman told him how.
"He's just half dead and starved," said Marjorie in a voice that
broke with pity. "He watched all last night while we slept away
like a pair o' stirks."
At the tone in her voice, Jack French turned and gave her a searching
look. The quick, hot blood flamed into her cheeks, and in her eyes
dawned a frank shyness as she gave him back his look.
"I don't care," she said at length; "he's fair dune oot.


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