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Updated: May 1, 2025
"Father Corraine," he said, "it is my duty to search your house; but not a foot will I stretch across your threshold if you say no, and give the word that the man is not with you." "Corporal McGann," said the priest, "the woman whom I thought was dead did not die, as you shall see. There is no need for inquiry. But she will go with you to Fort Cypress.
Just what was missing only one man could tell. Just how they entered was patent to all through a glazed window between the bed-room and the now unused dining room beyond. Just who were the housebreakers no man present could say; but Mistress McGann that afternoon communicated her suspicion to her sore-headed spouse, and did it boldly and with the aid of a broomstick.
"Envy Pretty-Pierre," she repeated, in distress; "are you Pretty Pierre? Ah, I might have known, I might have known!" "Yes, and so! Is not Pretty Pierre as good a name as Francois Rives? Is it not as good as Shon McGann?" "Oh, I see it all, I see it all now!" she said mournfully. "It was with you he quarrelled, and about me. He would not tell me what it was.
"Divils me darlins, it's a memory I have of a time whin luck wasn't foldin' her arms round me, and not so far back aither, and I on the wallaby track hot-foot for the City o' Gold." Shon McGann said this in the course of a discussion on the prosperity of Pipi Valley. Pretty Pierre remarked nonchalantly in reply, "The wallaby track eh what is that, Shon?" "It's a bit of a haythen y' are, Pierre.
But McGann, who swore by Trafford as he had once sworn by another of the Trafford race had his heart on his lips, and said: "There's a swate little cherub that sits up aloft, Who cares for the soul of poor Jack!" It was long after midnight ere they settled down again, with the wreck of the forest round them. Only the Indian slept; the others were alert and restless.
Shon McGann was a fine fool, but he did something at last, truly yes: Tim Macavoy, perhaps, will do something at last on his own hook. Hey, I wonder!" He felt the muscles of Macavoy's arm musingly, and then laughed up in the giant's face. "Once I made you a king, my own, and you threw it all away; now I make you a slave, and we shall see what you will do. Come along, for M'sieu' Tarlton."
But McGann, who swore by Trafford as he had once sworn by another of the Trafford race had his heart on his lips, and said: "There's a swate little cherub that sits up aloft, Who cares for the soul of poor Jack!" It was long after midnight ere they settled down again, with the wreck of the forest round them. Only the Indian slept; the others were alert and restless.
He had carried in his heart the infinite something that is to men the utmost fulness of life, which, losing, they must carry lead upon their shoulders where they thought the gods had given pinions. McGann and Pierre were nervous. This conjunction of unusual things was easier to the intelligences of the dead than the quick.
Presently a trooper stepped forward and said warmly, yet brusquely, as became his office: "Father Corraine, we meet again!" The priest's face was overswept by many expressions, in which marvel and trouble were uppermost, while joy was in less distinctness. "Surely," he said, "it is Shon McGann." "Shon McGann, and no other.
And now it was peopled, for there came from a cleft of the hills an army of buffaloes lounging slowly down the waste, with tossing manes and hoofs stirring the snow into a feathery scud. The eyes of Trafford and McGann swam; Pierre's face was troubled, and strangely enough he made the sign of the cross. At that instant Trafford saw smoke issuing from a spot on the mountain opposite.
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