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Outside on the porch, resting against the wall, stood a row of long-barrelled guns glinting in the moon's rays. Through the open doorway could be seen the glow of the hall lantern, the hall itself crowded with men. The Horn house was dark, except for a light in Mrs. Horn's bedroom. The old servant's visit had calmed their fears, and they had only to wait now until Oliver's return.

Not one of them could see at that moment a chance for Laramie's life; they only knew he was a man to die hard, and dying dangerous. In catching him at the moment he was stepping down, Van Horn's bullet, meant for his heart, had smashed the collar bone above it and Laramie's gun arm hung useless. Realizing his desperate plight, he flung his smashed shoulder toward his enemy.

Thy bark they shall take, and thee also if thou art therein; and then soon were the story told, for they know thee for a rebel of the Undying King. Hearken! Dost thou not hear the horn's voice? Come up hither and we shall see what is towards."

I cried. "A month isn't anything for Cape Stiff," he said grimly. "I've been off here seven weeks and then turned tail and run around the other way." "Around the world?" I gasped. "It was the only way to get to 'Frisco," he answered. "The Horn's the Horn, and there's no summer seas that I've ever noticed in this neighbourhood."

It was a still, frosty, finger pinching dawn, and the rime lay thick wherever it could lie; but Miss Horn's red nose was carried in front of her in a manner that suggested nothing but defiance to the fiercest attacks of cold.

He walked the deck of a good ship with a fellow-mariner with whom he could talk as much as he pleased, and under his feet were the bags containing the thousands of little bars for which he had worked so hard. For about four months the persons who made up what might be considered as Captain Horn's adopted family had resided in the Palmetto Hotel, in San Francisco.

The servant who, in obedience to orders received, showed Tommy up at once to "Cobbler" Horn's room, handed in at the same time a telegram which had just arrived from Mr. Burton, saying that he and Mrs. Burton might be expected about three o'clock in the afternoon.

When he had succeeded, in some degree, in steadying his quivering nerves, he reached from under the counter a brown-paper parcel containing a pair of boots, which had, for some days, been lying in readiness for the occasion which had now arrived, and, calling John to mind the shop, slipped swiftly into the street. A minute later he was standing in the doorway of "Cobbler" Horn's workshop.

But, by this time, a crowd was beginning to gather; and it seemed likely that, although Richard himself might not be able effectually to resist his captor, "Cobbler" Horn's purpose would be frustrated in another way. In fact the crowd a sadly dilapidated crew had drawn so closely around the centre of interest, as to render almost impossible the further progress of the struggling pair.

But I should never have thought of him somehow because, I suppose " "Because nobody ever thinks of a doctor's being sick or needing an operation. But doctors do sometimes and usually pretty badly, too, before they will submit to it. Van Horn's in dreadful shape, and has been keeping it dark until it's got the upper hand of him completely.