T.C. Bridges

Jim was a tall boy, taller than Bart and probably a year older, and would have looked nice if not for his conceited expression. His hair was black as ink, he had very dark eyes, and his skin was darker than that of an ordinary Englishman. Behind him was a small plump guy who looked like a groom or nursery. The new arrival looked at his dogs, then turned to Bart.

The boy knew all too well that his father was fighting to preserve the farm. The land was poor and they had three bad seasons. Unable to even pay for the labor, the farmer Holt and his seventeen-year-old son did almost all the work themselves, and sometimes it was hard work. They would not have known their neighbors, but the beasts themselves in the stables and stables lived better than Holt and his...

The roar of the pampero rattling above the chimneys of the solidly built Estancia drowned the rumble, but the sound was loud enough for Jock and Ned Burnie to jump from their chairs by the fire and run out of the room. At the foot of the stairs on the floor of broken clay lay an old man in a magnificent frame. Jock first got to him and leaned over him.