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Updated: June 5, 2025
He could not fight any longer, but he could blaspheme, and the foulest curses rolled from his lips. Finally he uttered Annette's name. Roger set himself and drove his fist to the point of the heavy, fat jaw. And as a marionette falls when its suspending strings are cut, so Garman collapsed and lay a huge, shapeless heap in the reddened sand.
In order to keep the business afloat during the disastrous years of the war, Morten W. Garman took into partnership a rich old skipper, by name Jacob Worse, from whence sprang the name of the firm. Thanks to old Worse's money, life came again into the tottering business, and Garman's great ability made the firm, in a few years, one of the most important on the west coast.
The terrific wrench of the back would have prostrated any normal man, but Garman, rolling swiftly, came to his feet and rushed again with new fury. The fight raged across the clearing and back again, Garman striving to drive his agile opponent into the brush and entangle him, Roger carefully avoiding this danger which would have enabled Garman to come to grips.
Again he feinted, again he swung and a bone in his right hand snapped as the fist went home on the top of his enemy's suddenly lowered head. Garman laughed through the welter of his broken face, and rushed, and Roger's straight left stopped him. Again the left flashed into the battered face, and again. Roger was fighting with the desperation of his last remnants of strength.
The wedding-breakfast was served at the Hôtel d'Angleterre, in one of the large salons looking out on the Kongen's Nytorv. Every one was in the highest spirits, and Morten made a speech in which he remarked, that Garman and Worse would now again become a reality. "And my old enemy Aalbom?" asked Gabriel at dessert. "Oh, he is the same as ever," answered Morten.
Tom Robson came limping behind; but no sooner did Martin catch sight of him, than he threw himself upon him a second time, until he again lay apparently dead upon the meadow. They thus continued their way over the field, but just as Martin was making a third attack upon Tom, a tall, slender boy came springing over the field, and put himself in front of Martin. It was Gabriel Garman.
"And so you play with other people's lives, do you?" said Payne, paying no attention to the other's raillery. "And is that what you're thinking of doing with mine?" Garman tilted back his head and smiled through a smoke cloud. "Yes," he said softly; "unless you run away." "Huh!" "No, you aren't the running kind. That's what makes you interesting. That's what will make you good fun.
Another time two of Garman's men came out and took the place of a pair of ditch workers who were ill. Why was Garman doing it? What was behind his apparent friendliness? Roger gave up the puzzle. In fact, he had discovered that he was not so vitally interested in his land project as he had thought himself to be.
It was a different Garman than had faced Roger across the camp fire on Deer Hammock; and it was a different girl than had ridden away from Flower Prairie. Only Mrs. Livingstone seemed to be as Roger recalled her, cold, affected; arrogant, and extremely conscious of the importance of her position as chaperon.
Garman turned to Willy and spoke swiftly in Seminole. Like a whipped schoolboy hurrying to obey an order, the Indian grasped his rifle, sprang into the dugout and in a flash was poling away from the hammocks as if his life depended upon it. Higgins sprang to the water's edge, but a word from Payne stopped him.
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