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Updated: May 12, 2025
"Especially after having been a soldier in the Spanish War. Why did you tell me that your name was Scharfenstein?" "Heaven on earth, it is Scharfenstein! I'm simply taking my chance on another man's passports." "I am unconvinced," ungraciously. She was, however, inordinately happy; at the sight of the picture of woe on his face all her trust in him returned.
"He is out of his head!" cried Scharfenstein, rushing up the steps. "God knows what has happened!" He was in time to see Maurice lurch into the arms of Captain von Mitter, who had barred the way to the private apartments. "Carewe!... What has happened? God's name, you are soaked in blood!" Von Mitter held Maurice at arm's length. "A battle?"
"You see, I have ridden part of my life on the great plains of the West, and have mounted everything from a wild Indian pony to an English thoroughbred. My name is Max Scharfenstein, and I am here as a medical student, though in my own country I have the right to hang out a physician's shingle." She drew aimless figures in the dust with her riding-crop. There was no sense in her giving any name.
Maurice coolly leveled his revolver and sent two bullets after him. The second one caused Johann to straighten stiffly, then to sink; but he hung on to the horse. "Hurry!" cried Maurice; "I've hit him and we'll find him along the road somewhere." They lifted von Mitter into the carriage, wheeled it about, and Scharfenstein mounted the box.
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