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Updated: June 1, 2025
McBain habitually spoke as excellent English as only a Scotswoman can, but it pleased her on occasion to assume the Doric much as a duchess may her tiara. "Barry's a dear," protested Nan, "and he doesn't need to play at being master in his own house." "I'm willing to believe you. That red-headed body is mistress and master too." Sandy grinned. "I consider that remark eminently personal.
McBain complained of a headache and vertigo on the morning of the fourteenth; so I laid to until he died, last night. I was not with him when he passed. What good would it have done? I had breakfast; and after breakfast I found him in his berth, dead. I tossed him overboard, and every last rag of clothing, dunnage and blankets aboard, with the exception of those in my own cabin.
But Fyles only laughed. There was no mirth in his expression, and McBain understood. "Never mind," the officer went on, with a careless shrug. "Best turn in. We'll know all about it when the time comes." He rose from his seat, and McBain, with a brief "Good night, sir," disappeared into the inner room. But Fyles did not follow his example for a few moments. He went to the door and flung it open.
As he reached the main trail of the village, he saw Inspector Fyles and Sergeant McBain riding down from the west, and the sight of them reminded him of his mail. So, leaving his friend to continue his way to the saloon alone, he went on to his little office, arriving in time to take down a telegraphic message from Amberley, and hand it, with his mail, to the police officer.
He paused and smiled wanly, then his eyes became fixed again, and he hurried on with his tale. "I was standing out in front of my office one day when Tuck Edwards, the boy I had in charge of the mine, came riding up and says: "'Rim, they've jumped you! "'Who jumped me? I says. "'Andrew McBain and L. W.! he says and I thought at first he was crazy. "'Jumped our mine? I says.
Fyles had no more difficulty in fooling the guileless Bill than O'Brien had. "Going home?" Bill inquired of the officer as the latter turned to his horse. "Sure." "Me, too." Fyles leaped into the saddle. McBain, too, had mounted. "Best hurry," said Fyles, with another quick glance at the sky. "We get sharpish storms hereabouts in summer. You'll be drowned else. So long." Bill moved away.
With unwonted forethought, born of the urgent need of the moment, he despatched the following telegram to Peter: "Coming to see you. Arrive London to-night seven-thirty. Very urgent. Sandy McBain." "Well, young Sandy McBain?" Peter looked up from a table littered with manuscript.
Big talk makes me sick." He spat on the floor as though to emphasize his disgust. "He's around anyways," O'Brien returned coldly. "I've seen him right here. After that he rode east. One of the boys see him pick up Sergeant McBain an' two troopers. Will that do you?" he inquired sarcastically. Nick picked up a fresh hand of cards. "Have to till I see him," he said savagely.
He halted within a yard of him, while the rest of the party looked on in amazement. McBain was the only one to make any move. He followed hard on his chief's heels. Fyles looked up into the horseman's face. The sky had cleared and the moon was shining once more. A sudden fury leaped to the officer's brain, and, for a moment, all discretion was very nearly flung to the winds.
She would like him to speak as he had spoken at first when he had come to her office alone. But those days were gone, along with eaves-dropping Andrew McBain, their first happiness and the golden dreams. All was gone all but the accursed gold. She found Rimrock alone in the silent office, running through filing cases in blundering haste.
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