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Updated: June 6, 2025
His position had been taken up with a view to observing his wounded chief, whose condition concerned him more than anything else in the world, except it was, perhaps, his delight in driving the men of his own color under him, and his absolute contempt for his own race. John Kars was lying on his blankets, yielding to the skilful attention of Dr. Bill.
Under the supervision of Kars and Bill the work went forward to its completion, with a precision and care for detail which means perhaps the difference between safety and disaster on the long trail. Nothing was too small for the consideration of these men in their understanding of the fierce wilderness which they had made their own. Their spirits were high.
On these matters he was discreetly reticent, and Kars was satisfied that it should be so. On his part he had no desire to enlighten him to the fact that, at that moment, Murray McTavish was lying in the extemporized hospital in the camp with a shattered arm, and that the half-breed, Louis Creal, was slowly dying with a bullet through his lungs, under the same primitive shelter. Kars had listened.
He's going north, as he said, and guessed I ought to help mother right here while he's away. You see, we haven't got Alec now." "No." The smile passed out of Kars' eyes. The girl's final words shocked him momentarily out of his self-command. There was one other at least who held his breath for what was to follow that curt negative. But Bill Brudenell need have had no fear.
In a moment he was on his feet as the door was thrust open, and two familiar figures pushed their way in. "Why, John Kars, this is the best sight I've had in weeks," cried the priest, with cordiality in every tone of his voice, and every feature of his honest face. "And, Dr. Bill, too? This is fine. Come right in."
"John Kars," he muttered aloud. There was no friendliness in his tone. There was no friendliness in the eyes which were raised from the letter and turned on the deep-set window overlooking the open gates beyond. For some silent moments he sat there thinking deeply. He continued to smoke, his gaze abstractedly fixed upon the blue film which floated before it upon the still air.
It was only to Bill that his plans seemed hardly to fit with that cordial appreciation which he had given expression to on the plateau. "Now for Mister Louis Creal." So he had said. Yet all the plans were defensive rather than offensive. Later this doubt found expression. "What about Louis Creal?" Bill asked in his direct fashion. And Kars' reply was a short, hard laugh.
His keen eyes gazed straight into the strong face confronting him. "No, I don't mean that. It's worse," he said, with a gravity quite changed from his recent agitated manner. "Worse?" Kars' question came sharply. "Go on." "Oh, I did all you said that night. I got a holt on him next day at the Gridiron, where he's stopping.
It was visited under the best conditions, and has been best described by W. KENNETH LOFTUS who was in it from 1849 to 1852. Attached as geologist to the English mission, commanded by Colonel, afterwards General Sir Fenwick Williams of Kars, which was charged with the delimitation of the Turco-Persian frontier, he was accompanied by sufficient escorts and could stay wherever he pleased.
And, understanding, she dreaded more than she admitted even to herself. She felt that her child would awaken presently to the reality, and then what then? Would John Kars pass on? Would he come again, and again pass on? And Murray. Murray was always in the back of her mind. The last day came. It was a day of labor and preparation at the landing.
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