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Updated: June 3, 2025
They tripped across the floor, crashing into the partition, which split, showering them with glass. They fell and rolled in it; then, by consent, wrenched themselves apart and rose, eye to eye, their jaws hanging, their lungs wheezing, their faces trickling blood and sweat. Roy's left hand pained him excruciatingly, while McNamara's macerated lips had turned outward in a hideous pout.
No sooner had Roy encompassed McNamara's waist from the rear than he slid his damaged hand up past the other's chest and around the back of his neck, thus bringing his own left arm close under his enemy's left armpit, wedging the receiver's head forward, while with his other hand he grasped the politician's right wrist close to the revolver, thus holding him in a grasp which could not be broken.
"They decided to act quick and do any odd jobs of lynchin', claim- jumpin', or such as needs doin'. There's a lot of law sharps and storekeepers in the bunch who figure McNamara's gang will wipe them off the map next." "It was bound to come to this." "They talked of ejectin' the receiver's men and puttin' all us fellers back on our mines." "Good. How many can we count on to help us?"
You don't realize that this is Alaska and that they have sworn to wipe out McNamara's gang. Come along." "Thank you for your good intentions," she said, "but we have done nothing to run away from. We will get ready to meet these cowards. You had better go or they will find you here." She moved up the stairs, and, taking the Judge by the arm, led him with her.
"Boys, we've overplayed. We don't want THESE people McNamara's our meat. Old bald-face up yonder has to do what he's told, and I'm ag'in' this twenty-to-one midnight work. I'm goin' home." There were some whisperings, then the original spokesman called for Judge Stillman. The old man tottered to the window, a palsied, terror-stricken object. The girl was glad he could not be seen from below.
Dunham shifted his feet in the silence and licked his dry lips. "Of course it's big, but Mr. McNamara's the biggest man that ever came to Alaska," he said. "And I've got the biggest scheme that ever came north, backed by the biggest men in Washington," continued the politician. "Look here!" He displayed a type-written sheet bearing parallel lists of names and figures. Struve gasped incredulously.
McNamara's astonishment was so genuine that he leaped to his feet, faced about, and prompted by a secretive instinct swung to the safe door as though to guard its contents. He had acted upon the impulse before realizing that his weapon was inside and that now, although the door was not locked, it would require that one dangerous, yes, fatal, second to open it.
In McNamara's office there was great stir and the coming of many men. The boss sat in his chair smoking countless cigars, his big face set in grim lines, his hard eyes peering through the pall of blue at those he questioned. He worked the wires of his machine until his dolls doubled and danced and twisted at his touch.
The report, coming while he was in the act of leaping, had startled him so that he had lost his balance, slipped upon the wet boards, and fallen. His assailant was lost in the darkness before he could rise. Pursuit was out of the question, so he continued homeward, considerably shaken, and related the incident to Dextry. "You think it was some of McNamara's work, eh?"
McNamara's head was thrust forward from his shoulders, peering into the lawyer's face. Strove tore ineffectually at the iron arm which was squeezing his life out, while for endless minutes the other leaned his weight against him, his idle hand behind his back, his legs braced like stone columns, as he watched his victim's struggles abate.
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