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The man in Swiss uniform tore at the flap of his haversack, and he must have jerked loose the plug of a grenade in his desperate haste, for as McKay's bullet crashed through his face, the contents of his sack exploded with a deafening crash. At the same instant two more bombs fell among the trees behind McKay, exploding instantly.
Will one of you lend Tucu a machete? He may need a weapon, and he cannot carry his big bow on this trip." A few minutes later the three crept out behind the tambo, Tucu gripping McKay's machete. As a final word Lourenço said: "Our men here may move about a little after a time, but do not try to keep them quiet. It is a part of the plan." With that he was gone.
Pierre Benoist, the survivor of the French brig, arrived at Mother McKay's shebeen in good order, with the borrowed blanket draped over his broad shoulders and the borrowed sealing-gun under his arm. All birds of Pierre's variety of feather seemed to arrive naturally at Mother McKay's, sooner or later.
And now he cried out aloud, a groaning, terrible cry as he went on. Hawkins and Nada had reached Mooney's shack long before this, a shack buried deep in the wilderness, a shack from which no cries could be heard Peter, trotting behind, whined at what he heard in Jolly Roger McKay's panting voice.
Schwandorf, tongue loosened a bit by his kümmel, chuckled. "Ho-ho! The woman? Leave her, of course, when she had served my purpose. Why bother about a woman here and there?" "I see." McKay's face, indistinct in the gloom, was unreadable, but his tone had a caustic edge. Schwandorf laughed again. "You are fresh from the woman-worshiping United States and you disapprove.
The man was very much weather-beaten; his tweeds were torn; he carried a rifle in his right hand. And his left was bound in bloody rags. But what instantly arrested McKay's attention was the pack strapped to his back and supported by a "tump-line." Never before had McKay seen such a pack carried in such a manner excepting only in American forests. The man stood facing the sun.
Bernard arrived at camp, and the reports all being in we found that 41 men had been killed in the fighting on the 16th and 17th of January. The death of Patrick Maher made 42, besides a long list of wounded. When we consider that there were not more than 500 engaged, counting McKay's Indians, the loss was heavy, and would the Government endorse or censure the officers, was the question.
And shame possessed him when he saw the sweet glory in Nada's face later that morning, and the happiness that was in Roger McKay's. Yet was that aching place in his heart, and the hidden fear which he could not vanquish. And that day, it seemed to him, his lips gave voice to lies.
But the lieutenant had seen worse sights in the shell-torn trenches of France, and now he kept his mind on his work. Wedging the gun to hold the tourniquet tight, he lifted his patient from the red-smeared mud and bore him to the nearest hammock in the crew quarters. Striding back, he found Tim alternately bathing McKay's head and giving him brandy. In a moment the captain's eyes opened.
Brown rose from his chair, bent over him, remained poised above his shoulder for a few moments. Then he coolly took the key from McKay's overcoat pocket and very deftly continued the search, in spite of the drowsy restlessness of the other. But there were no papers, no keys, only a cheque-book and a wallet packed with new banknotes and some foreign gold and silver.
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