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She Seemed About Four Miles Off from Me, and There was a Right Cold Current Blowin' in My Direction
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She Seemed About Four Miles Off from Me, and There was a Right Cold Current Blowin' in My Direction
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N.C. Wyeth
(American, 1882 - 1945)
She Seemed About Four Miles Off from Me, and There was a Right Cold Current Blowin' in My Direction
1905
dimensions unavailable
SUPP2000.1906
Known by reproduction only
Not on view
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For a moment he seemed to be looking right at me. This was my first sight of Bowie Bushyager
N.C. Wyeth
1921
The last morning Rowena came to my fire and, snatching the spider from me, took the job off my hands, baking the cakes while I ate
N.C. Wyeth
1921
One day a band of fifteen Indians jammed me in a sand ravine. I made a running fight for eleven miles, but went unscathed and had a lead of two miles at Sweetwater Bridge.
N.C. Wyeth
1916
Back and forth across it we went, twisting, straining, holding our strength, each striving to break the grip of the other's fingers on his wrist. I felt his breath upon my face, saw his cold eyes like blue fire burning me.
N.C. Wyeth
ca. 1914
With a Rush She Was on Her Knees before Munn, Clutching Him about the Legs . . . "He Didn't Do It! Don't Take Him! He's My Baby! He Never Harmed Anybody!"
N.C. Wyeth
1920
Dropping one of the sage-hens I asked the man behind me to pick it up. As he was groping for it I pulled one of my Colt's revolvers, and hit him over the head. He dropped senseless. // "Wheeling about I saw that the other man, hearing the fall, had turned, his hand upon his revolver. It was no time for argument. I fired and killed him."
N.C. Wyeth
1916
"Four different sizes o' shoes," said Peter Smith. "Right," agreed Kilmair; "four hombres and one senorita. I don't think we'll be welcomed."
N.C. Wyeth
1919
In the Council Lodge
A flaring torch was burning in the place, and sent its red glare from face to face and figure to figure, as it waved in the currents of air
N.C. Wyeth
1919
The girl's heart seemed to stop beating. The horses plodded through the leafy aisles, glorious with colors of the Autumn woods, but she saw none of them.
N.C. Wyeth
1912
She clung to his neck, looking up at the hot sky, then closed her eyes, for it seemed that the yellow devils of the flood were on them
N.C. Wyeth
1913
He glanced furtively at the faces of the four men about him.
N.C. Wyeth
1904
The Courtship of Miles Standish, endpaper illustration
N.C. Wyeth
1920