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
Mr.
Hay was dressing hurriedly, said the servant, so Webb bade Schriber and the orderly ride slowly down to the flats and await him at the forks of the road.
It was but five minutes before Hay appeared, pulling on his coat as he shot from the door, but even before he came the major had been carefully, cautiously scanning the blinds of the second story, even while feigning deep interest in the doings of a little squad of garrison prisoners, the inevitable inmates of the guard house in the days before we had our safeguard in shape of the soldiers club, the post exchange, and now again in the days that follow its ill judged extinction.
The paymaster had been at Frayne but five days earlier.
The prison room was full of aching heads and haze coffers of hard earned ill spent dollars.
Webb sighed at sight of the crowded ranks of this whimsically named company Q, but in no wise relaxed his vigilance, for the slats of the blind of the corner window had partially opened.
He had had a glimpse of feminine fingers, and purposely he called Hay well out into the road, then bent down over him.
All your horses in and all right this morning, Hay.
None have been out, said Hay stoutly, unless they've gone within the hour.
I never let them have the keys, you know, overnight.
Pete brought them to me at eight last evening, and got em at six this morning the usual time.
Where does he get them without waking you?
asked Webb.
They hang behind the door in my sleeping room.
Pete gets them when he takes my boots to black at six o'clock.
Come over to the stables, said the commanding officer, and wondering, Hay followed.
They found the two hostlers busily at work grooming.
In his box stall, bright as a button was Harney, Hay's famous runner, his coat smooth as satin.
Hay went rapidly from stall to stall.
Of the six saddlers owned by him, not one gave the faintest sign of having been used overnight, but Webb, riding through the gangway, noted that Crapau, the French half breed grooming in the third stall, never lifted his head.
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