#MARKED STONE GRIM DAWN DRIVER#
#MARKED STONE GRIM DAWN WINDOWS#

The tinny vehicle chugged and rattled off as Benson started down the slope of what had been the southern headland of Windy Bay.

#MARKED STONE GRIM DAWN DRIVER#

Reckon you're a friend of his-or her?вЂќД«enson did not answer as he stepped from the car, and the driver climbed peevishly down to crank his engine. вЂњI'm going back to-morrow morning,вЂќ said Benson. You aimin' to stay awhile? I cu'd take you out after scrod.вЂќ I go up it once in a while to git bait at tidewater. Back in the hills it's a live stream with trout in it. An' deputy-sheriff,вЂќ he added as he turned back his unbuttoned vest and displayed a badge pinned to his suspenders. The law's strict an' the law's carried out in Whitsands-prohibition to piracy. He smacked his lips with the tobacco stains at the corners and his eyes lit up with avarice. Wreckers carryin' up the flotsum-jetsum.вЂќ Silks and wines an' Spanish landed to that wharf many a time, take lights on the cliffs an' sutteranean passages, they tell. That's why they call it Smuggler's House. It's him-the old cap'n-they say was in league with the smugglers an' pirates of them days. You'll pass the timbers of an old ship juttin' out of the sand on your way to the house. вЂњ ROAD used to run down to the inlet,вЂќ said the lean, garrulous driver, humped over his wheel. The main trunks were buried the higher boughs peeled, blanched and drained of life, protruded like the bleached antlers of mammoth elk, seeking resurrection. The conquering grit, carrying the cliff by slow assault, had marched up to the very lintel of the door, spreading a dun carpet where soft turf had grown, smothering the orchard that once bloomed and bore. Where the dunes mounted now, salt-water had washed and roared and honeycombed the buried cliff.

#MARKED STONE GRIM DAWN WINDOWS#

He looked at the house, built of stone, grim, substantial, four-square, its seaward windows flaming with the afterglow, like deep-socketed eyes that glared defiance at the usurping sands.

Billows of sand replaced the waves that once had leaped in Windy Bay, formed with infinite persistence to a seemingly useless end: grain after grain, shifting, piling, year after year, choking the haven, forming a no-man's land between sea and shore. Between the ancient headlands the sand had reclaimed the sea. Some of the slopes were long, smooth drifts others were rippled by the wind tawny plumes of yellow sea-grass grew sparsely on the crests. Choked the sea an' nigh swallered the cliff.вЂќД«enson gazed across the waste of dunes. Water, from below where we are, clear across to the spur of rocky ground yonder. That was the name of it on the old charts. вЂњThere's the house! Used to stand close to the edge of the cliff one time, lookin' out to sea across Windy Bay. THE rattletrap car came squeakingly to a halt and the driver shut off the chattering engine to make himself more easily heard.

Marked stone grim dawn