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Updated: June 9, 2025
McCready straightened, and quick as a shot sent the long lash of his whip curling out into the night with a crack like a pistol report. "Charge, Pedro charge!" The rumble in Kazan's throat deepened to a snarling growl, but not a muscle of his body moved. McCready turned to Thorpe. "I could have sworn that I knew that dog," he said. "If it's Pedro, he's bad!" Thorpe was taking the chain.
Bird joined Carnes while McCready staggered along laden down with belts of ammunition. "Do you remember that rocky knoll we passed just before we landed?" asked the lieutenant. "If we can get this stuff there before we are attacked, we'll have a much better chance than we will in the open." "Good idea, Lieutenant. Carnes, connect yourself to one of these guns.
He's a queer chap, the Company's agent here tells me, and knows the woods like a book. But dogs don't like a stranger. Kazan isn't going to take to him worth a cent!" Kazan heard the girl's voice, and stood rigid and motionless listening to it. He did not hear or see McCready when he came up stealthily behind him. The man's voice came as suddenly as a shot at his heels. "Pedro!"
Only Kazan saw the stealthy movement of the hand, the fondling clutch of the fingers in her hair, and the mad passion burning in the eyes of the man. Quicker than a lynx, the dog had leaped the length of his chain across the sledge. McCready sprang back just in time, and as Kazan reached the end of his chain he was jerked back so that his body struck sidewise against the girl.
In a few minutes they stood before the ship. It was apparently uninjured, but the spark was dead. Carnes went back to the tunnel mouth to guard against surprise while Dr. Bird and McCready labored over the motor. Despite the best of both of them, no spark could be coaxed from the coil. As a last resort, Dr. Bird short-circuited the cells with a screwdriver blade.
With a final dip, McCready leveled off and made a landing. The machine rolled to a stop about a mile from the building. The truck was less than three hundred yards away. It came up rapidly and disgorged a dozen men armed with rifles who hurried forward. In the lead was a tall, slight figure who carried no gun. Dr. Bird stepped forward to meet them. "Do you understand English?" he asked.
With him, a broken spirit meant a broken heart, and that night he lurked in one of the deepest shadows about the camp-fire and grieved alone. None knew that it was grief unless it was the girl. She did not move toward him. She did not speak to him. But she watched him closely and studied him hardest when he was looking at McCready.
Why had his master and McCready gone out into the forest? Why had not his master returned? It was his master, and not McCready, who belonged in that tent. Then why was McCready there? He watched McCready as he entered, and suddenly the dog was on his feet, his back tense and bristling, his limbs rigid.
He had stopped in his walk outside the open window, and his disappointed look searched the inn parlour for a person who was not there. "Oh, Mr. McCready, I'm so sorry! but Miss Pitstone is out, and I don't know when she will be back." The artist undid his portfolio, and laid a half-finished sketch a sketch of Helena's on the window-sill. "Will you kindly give her this?
He was not surprised to see McCready come back alone. He had expected him to return alone. For he knew what a club meant! McCready's face was terrible now. It was like a beast's. He was hatless. Kazan slunk deeper in his shadow at the low horrible laugh that fell from his lips for the man still held the club. In a moment he dropped that, and approached the tent.
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