Frederick R. Bechdolt

Frederick R. Bechdolt

Summary

Portrait of Frederick R. Bechdolt Frederick R. Bechdolt Red Larson's Account (1912)

The Star of Austria had given me some hope tor a long yarn; that hope had vanished. Red Larson, being an old subject, had aroused in me an eagerness that time had not succeeded in quenching. I knew nothing of the man himself; nor did I know how he had come to vanish. I only knew that page in the thumb-worn book, with its footing:
Red Larson, Bal. $11.50.
Seven years old! And, in seven years, the law calls a man dead. Lighthouse Tom had refused to abide by any such rule.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Frederick R. Bechdolt Frederick R. Bechdolt Red Larson's Account (1912)

All three of us stared. “Hell!” cried Lighthouse Tom.
“Wot an old skin he is,” growled Windy Davis. “Watch him!” He winked elaborately at me. “Now listen! This is a yarn!”
“Hold fast!” Lighthouse Tom arose and started for the bar. “Wait a bit,” he said over his shoulder. He came back with his ledger in his hand. He laid the book on the table. Windy Davis was busying himself, filling a glass. At length, after some turning of pages, Lighthouse Tom came to Red Larson's account.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Frederick R. Bechdolt Frederick R. Bechdolt Red Larson's Account (1912)

Windy Davis set down his glass and his cheeks wrinkled in a smile.
“Ve see, when Red Larson left the cannery at Cross Sound that night, seven years ago, he went to meet this woman. She was with a Siwash outfit on their way back from Juneau to Yakutat in a war canoe. They was camped there on the island where the net-men found his dory arterwards. Ye remember that, Lighthouse Tom?
“Well, he went away with her that night—along with the Siwashes. He wanted her; she wanted him. But she knowed white men.
Source: Wikisource

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