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Updated: May 5, 2025
"Yes, Bignold is his name, Grassette," said the Sheriff. "You took a life, and now, if you save one, that'll balance things. As the Governor says, there'll be a reprieve anyhow. It's pretty near the day, and this isn't a bad world to kick in, so long as you kick with one leg on the ground, and " The Governor hastily intervened upon the Sheriff's brutal remarks.
His official and officious intervention, behind which was the tyranny of the little man, given a power which he was incapable of wielding wisely, would have roused Grassette to a savage reply a half-hour before, but now it was met by a contemptuous wave of the hand, and Grassette kept his eyes fixed on the Governor. "James Tarran Bignold!"
Grassette said, harshly, with eyes that searched the Governor's face; but they found no answering look there. The Governor, then, did not remember that tragedy of his home and hearth, and the man who had made of him an Ishmael. Still, Bignold had been almost a stranger in the parish, and it was not curious if the Governor had forgotten. "Bignold!" he repeated, but the Governor gave no response.
Fulton's safe this minute, most likely, and we mustn't let them get away." "Well, what in thunder's Fulton got in a safe that any robber would want?" grumbled Mr. Ring, but stepping briskly along nevertheless. "Two men, you say? Guess Bignold and I can handle them. I've got my old horse-pistol if it doesn't blow out backwards." They had reached the house, and Tod went in to telephone, while Mr.
"And here come Tod and Chief Bignold, just a minute too late." "Hi there, Mr. Ring," called the burly constable. "What is it a riot?" "A massacre, but all the victims escaped. Two blooming foreigners trying to steal an airship out of Mr. Fulton's safe down there in his cellar wasn't that what you said, boys?"
Suddenly he stopped and stood still, looking at something on the ground. They saw him lean forwards and his hands stretch out with a fierce gesture. It was the attitude of a wild animal ready to spring. They were beside him in an instant, and saw at his feet Bignold worn to a skeleton, with eyes starting from his head, and fixed on Grassette in agony and stark fear.
Where was Marcile? Only Bignold knew. Alive or dead? Only Bignold knew. "Bien, I will do it, m'sieu'," he said to the Governor. "I am to go alone eh?" The Sheriff shook his head. "No, two warders will go with you and myself." A strange look passed over Grassette's face. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then he said again: "Bon, I will go."
"Bignold where does he come from? What is he?" he asked the Sheriff. "He is an Englishman; he's only been out here a few months. He's been shooting and prospecting; but he's a better shooter than prospector. He's a stranger; that's why all the folks out here want to save him if it's possible. It's pretty hard dying in a strange land far away from all that's yours.
The Sheriff stooped to lift Bignold up, but Grassette waved them back with a fierce gesture, standing over the dying man. "He spoil my home. He break me I have my bill to settle here," he said in a voice hoarse and harsh. "It is so? It is so eh? Spik!" he said to Bignold. "Yes," came feebly from the shrivelled lips. "Water! Water!" the wretched man gasped. "I'm dying!"
"Bignold where does he come from? What is he?" he asked the Sheriff. "He is an Englishman; he's only been out here a few months. He's been shooting and prospecting; but he's a better shooter than a prospector. He's a stranger; that's why all the folks out here want to save him if it's possible. It's pretty hard dying in a strange land far away from all that's yours.
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