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Updated: June 21, 2025
"My God, man!" cried Carter; "you don't mean that I " He cowered back against the tree and shook from head to foot. "Kilday!" he cried presently, seizing Sandy by the wrist with his long, delicate hands, "does any one else know?" Sandy shook his head. "Then I must get away; you must help me. I didn't know what I was doing. I don't know now what I have done. Is he " "He's not dead yet."
"I don't know," said Carter, weakly, sinking back against the tree. "I'm sick. Get me some whisky." "Wake up!" said Sandy, shaking him roughly. "This is Kilday Sandy Kilday." Carter's eyes were still closed, but his lip curled contemptuously. "Mr. Kilday," he said, and smiled scornfully. "The least said about Mr. Kilday the better." Sandy laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Nelson, listen!
For answer Sandy pulled Carter's revolver from his pocket. "Did you have that this afternoon?" "Yes," said Carter, a troubled look coming into his eyes. "Where did you get it, Kilday?" "It was found outside Judge Hollis's window after he had been shot." "Judge Hollis shot! Who did it?" Sandy again looked at the pistol.
"Sandy Kilday?" gasped Jimmy, with a clutch at the letter in his pocket. "Where's he at?" "He's trying to get up from the d-depot. He has been an hour coming two squares. Everybody has stopped him, from Mr. Moseley on down to the b-blacksmith's twins." "Is he coming this way?" asked Jimmy, wild-eyed and anxious. Annette stepped to the window. "Yes; they are crossing the street now."
"I can't leave dad this way! Make him take me b-back, Sandy! I want to go home!" Carter stood very still and white. His thin body was trembling from head to foot, and the veins stood out on his forehead like whip-cord. He clenched his hands in an effort to control himself. At Annette's words he stepped aside with elaborate courtesy. "You are at perfect liberty to go with Mr. Kilday.
Then, changing the subject abruptly, she added: "G-guess who has come home?" "Who?" cried Jimmy, with palpitating ears. "Sandy Kilday. You never saw anybody look so g-grand. He's gotten to be a regular swell, and he walks like this." Annette held her umbrella horizontally, squared her shoulders, and swung bravely across the room.
He discovered Sandy lying on his face in the passageway, his right hand still dutifully wielding the scrub-brush, but his spirit broken and his courage low. "Hello!" he exclaimed briskly; "what's your name?" "Sandy Kilday." "Scotch, eh?" "Me name is. The rest of me's Irish," groaned Sandy. "Well, Sandy, my boy, that's no way to scrub. Come out and get some air, and then go back and do it right."
Little boys shouted, and old boys left their stores to come out and give a bit of advice or encouragement to the waiting warriors. Maidens in crisp lawn dresses and flying ribbons fluttered about in a tremor of anticipation. Sandy Kilday, with his cap pulled over his eyes, went up Back street. If he could not make the devil get behind him, he at least could get behind the devil.
The smoking lamp had blackened the chimney, and as he bent to turn it down, he caught his reflection in a small mirror over the table. What the bruises and swelling had left undone the cheap mirror completed. He started back. Was that the boy he knew as himself? Was that Sandy Kilday who had come to America to seek his fortune?
"Well," he went on, "he hadn't started with us, and he had been riding like mad all night to overtake the crowd. His horse dropped under him before he could dismount. Kilday jumped out in the crowd and began to talk like a crazy man. He said we mustn't harm Ricks Wilson; that Ricks hadn't shot the judge, for he was sure he had seen him out the Junction road about half-past five.
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