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Updated: May 2, 2025
From the first the wound healed rapidly, for Vic's blood was perfectly pure, the mountain air a tonic which strengthened him, and his food and care of the best. The high-powered rifle bullet whipped cleanly through his shoulder, breaking no bone and tearing no ligament, and the flesh closed swiftly.
He bowed his head a little, as though to catch the trend of the jolly story better, nodding. "What's wrong?" he muttered back. "Barry's watchin' you out of the shadow." Then: "You fool, don't look!" But there was method in Vic's raising his head.
What Vic translated to me was to the effect that it was out of the question for us to go on into the enemy's country, which we should have reached in another two hours' walk. By killing these men they had declared war. This was the sum total of Vic's translation, and I saw at once that it was out of the question for me to go on, as no Negrito would go with me, and I could not go alone.
A sudden clutch on Trench's arm, the blaze of the old-time fury in burning eyes, as Vic's hoarse voice cried: "For God's sake, Trench, get out of my sight!" "I will," drawled Trench. "The only friend you ever had. I'll carry my troubles up to Big Chief Funnybone.
Gresh gained the mastery again, and with a grip on Vic's throat was about to thrust his head, face downward, into the burning embers. Vic understood and strove for his own life with a maniac's might, for he knew that one more wrench would end the thing. "You first, and then the baby; I'll roast you both," Gresh hissed, and Vic smelled the heat of the wood flame. But who had counted on Bug?
I had a hot prospect lined up for a demonstration that morning, but I didn't even stop to give him a ring. Vic and I had been buddies ever since we were kids and, besides, he was Hope's brother. Vic's place was out on the river, about ten miles from town, and that little tan roadster of mine made it in just about ten minutes. The traffic in the business district slowed me up a bit.
One thing, however, I did see it was Vic, sitting on a knoll less than a mile from the pueblo. "I wonder we have not thought of Vic's absence all this time," I said; "there she is, on the trail of the thief, wondering why we do not pursue." "The good doggie," said Henry. "She did her best to tell us Chiquita was stolen, and she means to do her best to retake her."
Ordinarily Peter would have taken Vic's rebellion seriously enough to put a stop to it. He did half promise Helen May that he would notify all the directors he could get hold of not to employ Vic in any capacity; even to "chase him off the studio grounds", as Helen May put it. But he did not, because chance threw him a bit of solid material on which to rebuild his air castle for Helen May.
I often feel like that; but there's nobody to tell, except the trees and the dogs, and my poor pony, who is almost too old and second-childish now to understand. She was my brother Stanforth's pony first of all, and Stanforth is twenty-eight; then she was Vic's, and Vic is but Mother doesn't like Vic's age to be mentioned any more, though she is years younger than Stan.
Ten minutes later he sat in Lloyd Fenneben's library. "I have come for help," he said in reply to the Dean's questioning face. "I hope I can give it," Fenneben responded. "It's about tomorrow's game. There are sure to be some professional players on the other team. I want Sunrise to win. I want to win myself." Vic's voice was harsh tonight. And the Dean caught the hard tone.
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