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Updated: May 19, 2025
Drennen came his three times daily to Joe's for his meals, spent the major part of his time in his dugout or taking short, lonely walks up and down the river, coaxing back his strength. He saw much of Lemarc and Sefton upon the street, noting that they, like himself, had stayed behind, letting the other fools go on their fools' errands, sensing that their craft bade them linger to watch him.
Bondaine and her two daughters were away from home over night, Bondaine and the girl had a hot dispute; that that night, while in the library, Ygerne Bellaire shot her guardian; that he would in all probability have died had it not been for the opportune presence of Marc Lemarc, even the household servants being out; that that night Ygerne Bellaire left New Orleans and had not been heard of since by Bondaine or the authorities.
Mindful of the weapons on the floor he caught them up and threw them far out into the underbrush. His rifle ready in both hands, his purpose standing naked in his eyes, he stepped out after Max. "Curse you!" shouted Max over his shoulder. "If you interfere now I'll shoot you like a dog!" Sefton and Lemarc, riding and leading two other horses, came into view through the trees.
He had said truly; this old man had been more than father to him. Like all men of strong passions Max knew jealousy; and now he sought to hide the hurt that he should be sent away even though it be to make place for the son. Max and Garcia and Lemarc went out, the door closing after them.
Marc Lemarc had robbed him of the ten thousand dollars. He began there, strangely cool-thoughted. That didn't matter. He had half expected it all along. He knew now, clearly, that, more than that, he had half hoped for it.
He could only oppose his physical strength against the physical strength of a man who was an Antaeus from the madness and blood lust upon him. Sefton's white face went whiter, chalky and sick as Drennen's long arms encircled his body. Lemarc was rising slowly, his knife at last in his hand when Sefton's body, hurled far out, struck the ground. Drennen was not fighting as a man fights.
Ernestine, sobbing a moment, then very still, was over Kootanie George's body, her poor frail hands already red with his blood as she sought to lift him a little. George was looking up at her wonderingly. He did not understand; he could not understand yet. If she didn't love him, then why did she look at him like that? Lemarc, his dark face a study in anger and despair, lifted his two arms.
In him the simplicity of a normal existence had been phantastically twisted into complication. Before him were Sefton and Lemarc and Garcia . . . and Ygerne Bellaire. Behind him were George and Ernestine with their warped lives, Sothern and Max with their souls upon the verge of convulsion.
"Tell me about this girl. Who went with her?" "Not so many," muttered Marquette, "because she go quiet, in the dark. In the day the whole Settlement would follow, non? But Marc Lemarc, he go; an' M'sieu Sefton, he go; an' M'sieu Ramon, he go. . . ." "I'll give you a hundred dollars if you can tell me which way they went!" broke in Drennen crisply.
Something not quite shyness but akin to it was upon them both; it was a relief when the telephone of Sothern's desk rang. It was Marc Lemarc asking for Drennen. He had hired men, bought tools and dynamite, ordered machinery from the nearest city where machinery was to be had, had spoken to a competent engineer about taking charge of the work to be done.
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