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Updated: May 18, 2025
It may have been an ordinary knock, for it did not disturb the women; but to Belding and his rangers it had a subtle meaning. "Who's that?" asked Belding, as he slowly pushed back his chair and looked at Ladd. "Yaqui," replied the ranger. "Come in," called Belding. The door opened, and the short, square, powerfully built Indian entered.
Two of Centerport's detective force had been working on the case ever since the stranger had been knocked down on Market Street, and, like Chet Belding and his friends, the detectives finally had come to the conclusion that Prettyman Sweet's automobile was the only Perriton car in the city that had not been in storage on that night.
When he found his old saddle and bridle missing from the peg in the barn his conclusion became a positive conviction, and it made him, for the moment, cold and sick and speechless. "Hey, Dick, don't take it so much to heart," said Belding. "We'll likely find Sol, and if we don't, there's other good horses." "I'm not thinking of Sol," replied Gale.
"No, I was out on the bay one night, below the blockhouse, when you were playing." Belding's name was on the girl's lips but at the moment Belding did not fit and she went on evenly, "It is something like the rapids." "I'm glad you think that. It's the response that one gets." "That's what I feel. You're an American, aren't you?" "Yes." "I thought so.
He got about half up, then felt himself weakly sliding back. "I guess I'm pretty sick," he said. He saw Belding lean over him, feel his face, and speak, and then everything seemed to drift, not into darkness, but into some region where he had dim perceptions of gray moving things, and of voices that were remote. Then there came an interval when all was blank.
He felt suddenly and inexpressibly happy. "Come along." She leaned back against the cushions while Belding dipped a practiced blade in the unruffled stream. The night was clear and the sky studded with innumerable stars. "Where to?" he said contentedly. She waved a slim hand towards the rapids. "As near as you can, then round into the big bay."
It was kind and mellow and earnest. Gale heard footsteps on flagstones. "He's asleep yet, wife," replied Belding. "Guess he was pretty much knocked out.... I'll close the door there so we won't wake him." There were slow, soft steps, then the door softly closed. But the fact scarcely made a perceptible difference in the sound of the voices outside.
When Belding returned, and, instead of being accompanied by Wallace, merely brought a letter from him, the unhappy Susan would sink into fits of lamentation and weeping, and repel every effort to console her with an obstinacy that partook of madness. It was, at length, manifest that Wallace's delays would be fatally injurious to the health of his mistress. Mr. Hadwin had hitherto been passive.
It was just about this time that Clark summoned Belding and told him that he desired a house. This command was, in a way, so intimate that Belding looked foolish. "What kind of a house?" he said awkwardly. Clark leaned back in his chair. "You know how, years ago, the Hudson Bay Company built block houses for their factors?
Then it seemed Mrs. Belding was beside his bed, her presence so cool and soothing and helpful, and Mercedes and Nell, wide-eyed and white-faced, were fluttering around him. He drank thirstily, but refused food. He wanted rest. And with their faces drifting away in a kind of haze, with the feeling of gentle hands about him, he lost consciousness. He slept twenty hours.
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