Christine Blashford
speaker
728 appearances
1 recordings
1 series
first heard Jul 2026
last heard 21 Jul
Christine Blashford’s voice in public audio — every appearance, attributed to the second.
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recordings per month · last 12 monthsRecordings per month over the last 12 months — 1 in all, peaking in Jul 2026 with 1.
Appearances
Moreover, there was another reason it would give Field opportunity for further conference with inmates of the trader's household, and the major had his own grave reasons for seeking to prevent that.
Your written order will be sufficient, Mr Field, said he.
Send me memorandum of the amounts, and I will receive at once, so that you can go without further thought of them.
And now, with a glance at the clock, you have hardly half an hour in which to get ready.
Raising his hand in mechanical salute, Field faced about, cast one look at Blake, standing uncomfortably at the window, and then strode, angering away to his quarters, smarting under a sense of unmerited rebuke, yet realizing that, as matters looked, no one was more to blame than himself.
Just as the first faint flush of coming day was mantling the pallid eastern sky, and while the stars still sparkled aloft, and the big bright moon was sinking to the snow tipped peaks far away to the occident, in shadowy column a troop of fifty horse filed slowly from the Sorrel's big coral and headed straight for the Platte.
Swift and unfordable in front of Fran in the early summer, the river now went murmuring sleepily over its stony bed, and Ray led boldly down the bank, and plunged girth deep into the foaming waters,
Five minutes more and every man had lined up safely on the northward bank.
In low tone the order was given, starting, as Ray ever did, in solid column of fours.
In dead silence the little command moved slowly away, followed by the eyes of half the garrison on the bluff.
Many of these were women and children who gazed through a mist of tears, and
Ray turned in saddle as the last of his men went by, looked long at the dim light in the upper window of his home, where clasping her children to her heart, his devoted wife knelt watching them, her fond lips moving in ceaseless prayer.
Dimly she could see the tried leader, her soldier husband sitting in saddle at the bank.
Bravely she answered the flutter of his handkerchief in farewell.
Then all was swallowed up in the shadows of the distant prairie, and from the nursery adjoining her room there rose a querulous wail that told that her baby daughter was waking, indifferent to the need that sent the soldier father to the aid of distant comrades, threatened by a merciless foe, and conscious only of her infantile demands and expectations, she
Not yet ten years wed, that brave, devoted wife and mother, had known but two summers that had not torn her husband from her side on just such quest and duty, for these were the days of the building up of the West, resisted to the bitter end by the red wards of the nation.
The sun was just peering over the rough, jagged outline of the eastward butts, when a quick yet muffled step was heard on the major's verandah, and a picturesque figure stood waiting at the door.
Scout, of course, a stranger would have said at a glance, for from head to foot the man was clad in beaded buckskin, without sign of soldier garb of any kind.
Soldier, too, would have been the expert testimony the instant the door opened, and the commanding officer appeared.
Erect as a Norway pine, the strange figure stood to attention, heels and knees together, shoulders squared, head and eyes straight to the front, the left hand fingers extended after the precise teachings of the Antibellum days, the right hand raised and held at the salute.
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