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Updated: June 23, 2025
A moment was sufficient for his decision, and he turned and hurried back, made straight for the tool-house, where he placed the mug on the bench, with the sandwiches carefully balanced across. Then, carefully keeping out of the gardener's sight till the last minute, he turned down a path which led him near, and then, putting his hands to his lips, he shouted: "Ness!"
"The Macruadh does what is just!" rejoined the man. His master vouchsafed him no reply. He would not show his wrath against the chief: it would be undignified! "Take him to the tool-house, and lock him up till I think what to do with him. Bring me the key." The butler led the way, and Hector followed between his captors.
Although all Canaan had watched the building and rigging day by day, in Choke Gulch, the sight of the shed made the people almost hysterical, as though they had never seen the "plant" of the Canaan Mining and Development Company before, the shack office, the tool-house, the big proud mill shed, the tramway, the hoister.
"Swanny," asked Crayshaw, "have you got a pipe in your pocket? I want one to lie on my desk." "Well, now, to think o' your asking me such a question, just as if I was ever known to take so much as a whiff in working hours no, not in the tool-house, nor nowhere." "But just feel. Come, you might."
"We couldn't do what all the king's horses and all the king's men didn't manage, Nat, and yes, my dear, we're coming." Uncle Joe jumped up and went out of the tool-house, for my aunt's voice could be heard telling us to come in. "Hush!" he whispered, with a finger on his lips. "Make haste in, Nat, and run up to your room and wash your hands."
It was a very, very long job; but at every stage my uncle sat and expressed his approval, and every spare hour was spent in the tool-house, where I patiently worked away. I grew very tired of my task, but felt that I must finish it, and I have often thought since what a splendid lesson it proved.
Then he rose and braced himself desperately against the tool-house, where, when his tormentors drifted away, he seemed to the soft eye of pity pinned to the wall by their cruel interrogations, whose barbed points were buried in the stucco behind him, and whose feathered shafts stuck out half a yard before his breast. Whether he was black or not, pity could not see, but probably he was.
But about that time I thought I must be getting on. As I strolled up the road I pondered over the message which Wag's father had been so good as to send me. "If they're about the house, give them horseshoes; if there's a bat-ball, squirt at it. I think there's a squirt in the tool-house." All very well, no doubt.
"Certainly this time the luck is hers," said I; "but this will not satisfy them." "No. More than once since they have been over the house and garden and utterly devastated it, so says her nurse. They searched a tool-house and a small conservatory. Madame Bellegarde has been cool enough to go there for flowers, but is in the utmost apprehension. And now ten days have passed." "Is that all?" "No.
It was to no purpose, however. The poor young man was incapable of resistance, either by word or deed. In a short time they reached the tool-house, where he threw Fenton on a heap of apples, like a bag, and left him to lie in cold and darkness, as if he were some noxious animal, whom it would be dangerous to set at large.
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