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They were not to be had in the Pension Murphy; but their equivalent was at hand. Triumphantly he sent the granite-ware wash basin at the head of his matrimonial adversary. Mrs. McCaskey dodged in time. She reached for a flatiron, with which, as a sort of cordial, she hoped to bring the gastronomical duel to a close. But a loud, wailing scream downstairs caused both her and Mr.
He was embarrassed that she should find him in this predicament, shamed that she should be forced to come to his assistance; nevertheless, he was thrilled at her ready response. It was the elder McCaskey who next claimed attention. "We've made our spiel," he began; then he launched into a repetition of his former statement of facts.
The stranger's gray mustache lifted in a grin that was not at all friendly. "What the blazes ?" Joe McCaskey exploded. "Go easy!" the intruder cautioned him. "We've been laying around, waiting for your pal to get back." With a movement of the revolver muzzle he indicated Phillips. "Now then, stretch! On your toes and reach high. You there, get up!"
"Henri didn't spare me even that." Rouletta pressed her closer, murmuring: "Colonel Cavendish is a fine man I'm sure he understands. You've undergone a dreadful ordeal, but it's nearly over. He's sending for Laure now. She can tell a good deal, if she will." "About the theft, yes. But what about the murder? Joe McCaskey did it. There's no doubt about that.
Joe McCaskey, of course, was speechless, this ordeal proving, as a matter of fact, scarcely less trying than that other one at Sheep Camp when he had run the gauntlet. As for Rock and the French Canadian, neither had much to say, and as a result sensational stories soon spread through the resorts.
If the bye we never had is strayed and stole, by the powers, call him Phelan, and see him hide out under the bed like a mangy pup." Mrs. McCaskey arose heavily, and went toward the dish closet, with the corners of her mouth drawn down. Policeman Cleary came back around the corner as the crowd dispersed.
In one of the second-floor front windows Mrs. McCaskey awaited her husband. Supper was cooling on the table. Its heat went into Mrs. McCaskey. At nine Mr. McCaskey came. He carried his coat on his arm and his pipe in his teeth; and he apologised for disturbing the boarders on the steps as he selected spots of stone between them on which to set his size 9, width Ds.
Such was the spirit of the Chilkoot trail. At the first stroke of the descending whip a howl went up a merciless howl, a howl of fierce exultation. Joe McCaskey rocked forward upon the balls of his feet; his frame was racked by a spasm of agony; he strained at his thongs until his shoulder muscles swelled.
Since the younger McCaskey appeared to be still somewhat dazed from the rough handling he had suffered, his brother was thrust forward. The latter was stripped to the waist, his wrists were firmly bound, then trussed up to one of the stout end-poles of the tent-frame which, skeleton-like, stood over the platform. This done, the committee fell back, and the wielder of the whip stepped forward.
Jim McCaskey was buried where he had fallen, and there beside the trail, so that all who passed might read and ponder, the men of Sheep Camp raised a board with this inscription: "Here lies the body of a thief." A certain romantic glamour attaches to all new countries, but not every man is responsive to it.
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