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The backer was a reliable man and asked for a fair run for his money. The note had come too late just as the horses were starting to be of avail, except as a corroboration of the suspicious features of the race. Starter Carson's evidence as to McKay's handling of the mare coincided with the contents of the note. Then there was the fact of Porter's having bought Lauzanne.
Valetta Joe was found guilty and sentenced to imprisonment for four years, and with his conviction the reader's interest in him will probably cease. It disposed of the last of McKay's active enemies; Benito, as we have seen, had died in Balaclava hospital, and Cyprienne Vergette and her accomplice were in the grip of the French law. The enemies had disappeared; friends only remained.
And the wind, rising a little with the coming of storm, seemed to whisper and chortle over the horrible thing, and the lone wolf in Indian Tom's swamp howled weirdly, as if he smelled death. Jolly Roger McKay's finger-nails dug into the flesh of his palms.
And Peter, denied the power of thought transmission because of an error in the creation of things, ran back a little way over the trail, trying to tell his master that Nada had come with him through the storm, and was back in the deep forest calling for him to return. But McKay's mind saw nothing beyond the dimly lighted room of the Missioner's cabin.
If it's you, call out your number, because I've got you over my sights and I shoot straight!" "Seventy-six and Seventy-seven!" came McKay's cautious voice. "Good heavens, Recklow, why have you come up here?" "Don't touch the wire again," Recklow warned him. "Drop flat both of you, and crawl under! Crawl toward my voice!"
Years after my mother's death, when I was a young man, and had been down to Montreal and Ottawa and Quebec, I went back to Yellow Bird's tribe. And it was starving, Pied-Bot. Starving to death!" Reminiscent tenderness and humor were gone from McKay's voice. It was hard and flinty. "It was winter," he continued, "the dead of winter. And cold.
Sawbones will be up soon. Meanwhile, let's try and staunch the blood. We'll tear up your shirt for a bandage." And with rough but real kindness he tore open McKay's old greggo so as to get at his underlinen. This action betrayed the red cloth waistcoat he still wore. "Why, that's an English staff waistcoat. Quick! How did you come by it, you murdering rogue?" "I am a staff officer." "You!
At length, as night fell, Colonel Adams, who had succeeded Eyre in the command, reluctantly decided to fall back. The retreat was carried out slowly and in perfect order, without molestation from the enemy. Now at last the wounded were removed on stretchers as carefully and tenderly as was possible. McKay's hurts had been seen to early in the day.
Then McKay's sunken eyes glittered and he stiffened up, and his wasted features seemed to shrink until the parting of his lips showed his teeth. It was a dreadful laughter his manner, now, of expressing mirth. "Recklow," he said, "in 1914 that vast enterprise was scheduled to be finished according to plan.
Stanislas McKay was a traitor and the son of a traitor; he had been actually taken red-handed in a new and still deeper treachery, and he must suffer for his crime. At the end of the first fortnight McKay's relations and friends in England had almost abandoned hope. This was what Mr. Faulks told Mrs. Wilders, who called every day two or three times, always in the deepest distress.
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