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Updated: April 30, 2025
Other descendants of the same patriotic family reside in Chester county, S.C. One of his daughters married George Houston, who, with a Spartan band of twelve or thirteen brave spirits, under Captain James Thompson, beat back a British foraging party of over four hundred soldiers, at McIntyre's Branch, on the Beattie's Ford road, seven miles north-west of Charlotte.
Tim lay on the floor, staring up at the reader. John McIntyre's sorrowful voice had brought home to him some inkling of the stupendousness of that tragedy. "What did they kill Him for?" he demanded sharply. "He never did anything bad, did He?" "No." John McIntyre's voice was almost inaudible. "Couldn't He have stopped them if He had wanted to?" "Yes," hesitatingly.
"McIntyre desires to get back his lost securities; judging from his comments after the inquest, he is not particularly interested in who killed Turnbull." "But I am," exclaimed Kent. "The more I think of it, the more convinced I am that the forged letter, with the subsequent disappearance of McIntyre's securities has some connection with Jimmie's untimely death, be it murder or suicide."
"I took Miss McIntyre's word for the house, for I had the burglar safe under arrest." "How did Miss McIntyre appear?" "Appear? Sure, she looked very sweet in her blue wrapper and her hair down her back," answered O'Ryan with emphasis. "She was not fully dressed then?" "No, sir." "Was Miss McIntyre composed in manner or did she appear frightened?" asked Penfield.
Almost as soon as McIntyre's back was turned, the doctor said to the men something to the effect that they were abandoned to die of thirst, there not being a drop of water remaining, and that he knew in which packs the medical brandy was stowed, certain bags being marked to indicate them.
"Your carelessness in using your peculiar gift of penmanship in copying Barbara McIntyre's signature in this memorandum of her visit here" Kent held up a sheet torn from his pad, "gave me the first clew. These, the second," he showed several pieces of blotting paper freshly used.
And there would be six altogether in the party to-morrow, besides Martin. How a man's family did grow, to be sure! The smiling content in John McIntyre's eyes deepened. He turned toward the white house on the face of the rising slope, half hidden in a nest of orchard trees. A woman's figure swayed to and fro beneath the vines of the veranda.
At that moment a shout of "Seminary!" was heard in the rear of the Pennies, and Speug knew that Duncan Robertson had driven McIntyre's the full length of the terrace and was now fighting them in Breadalbane Street. "Forward!" cried Speug.
Whoever picked him up must have been some athlete, and" running his eyes up and down Colonel McIntyre's well-knit, erect frame "pretty familiar with the workings of this casket." "Pooh! It's not so difficult a feat," McIntyre shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. "My daughters, as children, used to play hide and seek inside the casket with each new governess." Ferguson stepped forward briskly. "Mr.
Right in the middle of the highway, facing Sandy McQuarry's team, stood the schoolmistress. She had a basket on her arm, and was bound for John McIntyre's place with a mold of jelly, but she was really bent on finding out if that eldest orphan-imp had been spending the day with that dreadful old man instead of coming to school.
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