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Updated: May 29, 2025
As soon as he had them, he placed one in a noose round Gleeson's neck, and drew it tight enough to be uncomfortable, but not enough to check breathing. "You hold this, lad," he said to Tony, who took the loose end of the strap and, just to see that it was all secure, jerked it slightly. "I haven't done you harm," Gleeson began to whine; "I haven't done you harm. I'll do anything "
"I believe that was a Comanche who has gone down before the rifle of one of our men." As the reader is aware, the Texan was correct in every particular, for it was the report of Gleeson's Winchester, which ended the career of the warrior pressing Avon Burnet so hard, that reached the captain as he lay on the roof of his own dwelling.
Munro was moving about the square in a dreamy sort of way, like a poet meditating on love or flowers in May. Lieutenant de Broqueville was making inquiries about other wounded in other houses. I lent a hand to one of the stretcher-bearers. What others were doing I don't know, except that Gleeson's calm face made a clear-cut image on my brain. I had lost consciousness of myself.
"We've struck it rich since you've been away, lad, struck it rich, which is all through killing that damned shark," Palmer Billy cried, capering up to him. "But what price?" he exclaimed, as he stopped and stared at the horse. "Where did you raise this?" "Down by the creek. Gleeson's was there as well," Tony answered. "It's your own horse?" Peters said. "The one that was stolen?"
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