Library / Literature & Fiction

Under the Redwoods
by Bret Harte
- Pages
- about 229
- Category
- Literature & Fiction
- Language
- English
- Reading time
- 4.2 h at 250 wpm
From the opening
As night crept up from the valley that stormy afternoon, Sawyer's
Ledge was at first quite blotted out by wind and rain, but presently
reappeared in little nebulous star-like points along the mountain side,
as the straggling cabins of the settlement were one by one lit up by
the miners returning from tunnel and claim. These stars were of varying
brilliancy that evening, two notably so--one that eventually resolved
itself into a many-candled illumination of a cabin of evident festivity;
the other into a glimmering taper in the window of a silent one.
They might have represented the extreme mutations of fortune in the
settlement that night: the celebration of a strike by Robert Falloner, a
lucky miner; and the sick-bed of Dick Lasham, an unlucky one.
The latter was, however, not quite alone. He was ministered to by Daddy
Folsom, a weak but emotional and aggressively hopeful neighbor, who was
sitting beside the wooden bunk whereon the invalid lay. Yet there
was something perfunctory in his attitude: his eyes were continually
straying to the window, whence the illuminated Falloner festivities
could be seen between the trees, and his ears were more intent on the
songs and laughter that came faintly from the distance than on the
feverish breathing and unintelligible moans of the sufferer.
Nevertheless he looked troubled equally by the condition of his charge
and by his own enforced absence from the revels. A more impatient moan
from the sick man, however, brought a change to his abstracted face, and
he turned to him with an exaggerated expression of sympathy.
“In course! Lordy! I know jest what those pains are: kinder ez ef you
was havin' a tooth pulled that had roots branchin' all over ye! My! I've
jest had 'em so bad I couldn't keep from yellin'! That's hot rheumatics!
Yes, sir, I oughter know! And” (confidentially) “the sing'ler thing
about 'em is that they get worse jest as they're going off--sorter
wringin' yer hand and punchin' ye in the back to say 'Good-by.' There!”
A short sample. Read the whole book
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