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Updated: June 20, 2025
So eager were they to escape, that Carter telephoned the hallman at his club to secure a cabin for the next afternoon on the Fall River boat. As they sat over their coffee in the cool breeze, with, in the air, the scent of flowers and the swing of music, and with, at their feet, the lights of the great city, the world seemed very bright. "It has been a great day," sighed Carter.
He was too wise then to twit those others with their unbelief. His wisdom went farther than that; for he remained very much in the background of the conversation and contented himself with answering, briefly and truthfully, the questions they put to him about Florence Grace Hallman and the things she had so foolishly divulged concerning her plans.
Propbridge told the switchboard girl downstairs to tell the hallman to invite the gentleman to come up. He proved to be a somewhat older man than she had expected to see. He was well dressed enough, but about him was something hard and forbidding, almost formidable in fact. Yet there was a soothing, conciliatory tone in his voice when he spoke. "Mrs. Propbridge," he began, "my name is Townsend.
Florence Grace Hallman would not have relished her supper, I fear, had the news reached her earlier in the evening. At Antelope Coulee the Happy Family and such of the settlers as they could muster hastily for the fight, made a desperate stand against the common enemy. Flying U Coulee was safe, thanks to the permanent fire-guards which the Old Man maintained year after year as a matter of course.
He looked at her full with his honest, gray eyes that could so deceive his fellow men to say nothing of women. "And that reminds me, I've got to go and borrow a garden rake. I'm planting a patch of onions," he explained engagingly. "Say, this farming is a great game, isn't it? Well, good day, Miss Hallman. Glad I happened to meet you."
Hallman was in his early forties, with twenty years of South-Seas trading, a tall, strong, well-featured, but hard-faced, European, with thin lips over nearly perfect teeth, and cold, small, pale-blue eyes. He talked little to men, but isolated young women whenever possible, and bent over them in attempted gay, but earnest, converse.
Andy smiled inside his soul, but his face was bewildered; his eyes fixed themselves blankly upon her face. "Me? Damaging property? Miss Hallman, you don't know me yet!" Which was perfectly true. "What shacks are you talking about? In what gulch? All the shacks I've seen so far have been stuck up on bald pinnacles where the blizzards will hit 'em coming and going next winter."
All the Davids in the world could croak on my doorstep, and if the police couldn't get me for it, I'd worry. "Belay there!" Lying Bill shouted at Hallman. "You don't know Llewellyn like I do. How about the tupapau, the bloody ghosts? You forget that Llewellyn's a quarter Kanaka, an' born 'ere. All that German university stuff ain't no good against the tupapau.
After that, Andy thought of Florence Grace Hallman and his eyes were not particularly sentimental. There was a hard line about his mouth also; though Florence Grace Hallman was but a pawn in the game, after all, and not personally guilty of half the deliberate crimes Andy laid upon her dimpled shoulders.
Why, there's some reason for 'im comin' in 'ere like a bloody queer un an' abusin' us." "Hell! that's all over!" said Hallman. "I'll tell you, Llewellyn's always been sour. That's what that dam' German university highfalutin' education does for you. It takes the guts out of you. I know. I never had any of it. I'm a business man, by God! and I'm not crammed full of Dago and other rot.
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