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Updated: June 9, 2025
By suggestion the moccasin track at the dam occurred to him. He recalled its straight inner line. McCrae's moccasined foot would make just such a track. Was it possible that he, at least, was one of the dynamiters? Not only possible, Farwell decided, after a moment's reflection, but probable. The elder man he exonerated mentally.
But Patrick was out of hearing; he had leapt over a stone wall which separated his father's potato ground from Cornelius McCrae's, and had hastened to Judith, whom he found very busy getting the dinner ready. "Judith, my dear," said Patrick, "my heart's quite broke with the bad news I have to tell you. Sure I'm going to leave you to-morrow morning." "Now, Patrick, you're joking, surely."
It was not that Hodder feared that his own solution was not the right one, but that McCrae might not find it so: he was intensely concerned that it should also be McCrae's solution the answer, if one liked, to McCrae's mute and eternal questionings.
Casey, meanwhile, had been forming his own conclusions. "Well?" he asked. "Well," said the sheriff, "I reckon you been usin' your eyes, too. Let's hear about it." "It's your hunt." "So it is. McCrae's met up with McHale. This here is their camp." "How do you know?" "You askin' because you don't know yourself, or because you want me to tell you?"
Of all the small dams constructed and maintained by the ranchers for irrigation purposes but one remained; and that one was Donald McCrae's. McCrae himself considered this an invidious distinction. He would have preferred to suffer with his neighbours. He did not know why his structure had been spared, and he lent men and teams to others, labouring hard himself in the task of rebuilding.
Well, now that he had worked it out, now that he had reached his decision, it was incumbent upon him to tell his assistant what that decision was. Hodder shrank from it as from an ordeal. His affection for the man, his admiration for McCrae's faithful, untiring, and unrecognized services had deepened.
Keeler took an impression of it, or made a cast or something I don't know just what, but I do know that he photographed it. Since then I've noticed young McCrae's foot, and I believe he made the track, though it didn't strike me at the time. That was about the only clew we found. Mind you, Dunne, I believe you were in it yourself, but I haven't a thing to go on.
His assistant, in sustaining him in the struggle he meant to enter, would be making even a greater sacrifice than himself. For Hodder had no illusions, and knew that the odds against him were incalculable. Whatever, if defeated, his own future might be, McCrae's was still more problematical and tragic.
It would be interesting to resume the number of brazen imitations of McCrae's "In Flanders Fields" here is the most striking, put out on a highly illuminated card by a New York publishing firm: Rest in peace, ye Flanders's dead, The poppies still blow overhead, The larks ye heard, still singing fly. They sing of the cause which made thee die.
It occurred to Ayling that, standing there before him with Lady McCrae's letter, which she had been showing him, in her hand, she was exactly like a little girl who was going to be left all alone. The idea came to him suddenly. "Look here, Bessie; come down to Homebury St. Mary with me! It would do you no end of good."
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