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Updated: May 21, 2025
The wheels began to revolve, Greer threw in the clutch, and presently a veritable stream of flour began to issue from the mouth of the machine. Ambrose repressed an inclination to cheer. The steady hum of machinery was more effective to awaken the inhabitants of the Fort than any scattered noises. The sounds of movement began to be heard among the houses. Lights were lit, and doors opened.
The Sheriff, E.S. Stover, was summoned and was in the act of taking the men to jail when a shot was fired from a loft of the Barth house, where a number of Mexicans had established themselves. The bullet, possibly intended for a Greer, passed through the patriarch's head and neck, killing him instantly. The Greers were threatened with lynching, but were saved by the sheriff's determination.
Greer stuck a nose down the ladder first. Beyond the usual close ship smells there seemed to be nothing wrong. Then they climbed down. Here again they found order. The bunks against the bulkheads and the curve of the prow were clean with neatly rolled blankets. The lockers were open and empty. The two searchers climbed out and walked aft to the lazaret.
Greer himself stared, then moved forward automatically to continue his onslaught, when Hogan grabbed him. "Come on back," cried the Irishman. "Th' scoundrel has lift ye no ixcuse to fight him any more. He says he's a thafe, but I don't belave Come git a wash and let's wrap up yer hand." At that moment the dignified voice of Gaskin came from the forward pontoon.
"Lend us a 'and, 'ere, Madden," called Malone; "our chap's knocked out." "Who is it? Oh, it's Caradoc!" Madden stared down into the still, upturned face with a dull emotionless feeling. He was too numb to feel or sympathize. "Is he dead?" he finally asked. "Wounded, sir," replied Greer. At that moment, the Englishman moved slightly, opened his eyes. "We stopped it, Madden."
Then Greer walked through, lugging Andrews for a touch-down, after Westvale had tried three times to move the ball. There's the whistle; half's up. How is the golf getting along?" "Somers and Whipple were at Look Off when I came away. I asked Billy Jones to come over and call me when they got to The Hill. I think Whipple will win by a couple of strokes. Somers is too nervous.
Then there was a delay, for the right half when he tried to arise found that his ankle was strained, and so had to limp off the ground supported by Greer and Barnard, the one-hundred-and-sixty-pound right tackle. Turner, a new player, went on, and the ball was put in play again, this time for a try through left tackle.
The warm water soaked the energy out of limbs and arms. He changed from breast to over-arm stroke, then he shifted to the crawl and trudgen stroke. "Perhaps we'd better rest awhile, sir," suggested Greer, who came puffing close behind. "Beastly hot, this sun," Leonard ducked head and shoulders under water for relief. His hat floated off and he grudged the slight effort to retrieve it.
"If I am, in advance, asked to regard a proposed communication as confidential, I should understand, of course, that the proposer impliedly pledged that it should be of a character that a man of honor could listen to and entertain; of course, Mr. Greer, you can have no other to make to me, and you know I would not listen to any other."
Father Greer's small eyes again rested for a second on the Doctor's broad face, with its strong, overhanging brows and heavy under-jaw, and drew his own conclusions from the confident smile that showed the white teeth under the drooping, black moustache that had still scarcely a grey hair in it. "I was thinking that might be what he was after!" thought Father Greer.
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