Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
The first vision to rise was that of the lady typist, exacting her full pound of flesh; and then, groping back to that other catastrophe, his mind fetched up Andrew McBain! And then he remembered. She worked for McBain. He straightened up in the bar-room chair and gusty curses swept from his lips. "You're stung, you sucker!" he cried in a fury. "You're sold out to Andrew McBain!
The news of his success, whatever it was, had preceded him hours before. Andrew McBain had hid out, the idle women were all a-twitter; but Mary Roget Fortune was calm. She had heard the news from the very first moment, when L. W. had dropped in on McBain; but the more she heard of his riotous prodigality the more it left her cold.
There was yet McBain, the horse-leech of a lawyer who had beaten him out of his claim. More than once, in black moments, he had threatened to kill him; but now he was glad he had not. Men even raised skunks, when the bounty on them was high enough, and took the pay out of their hides. It was the same with McBain.
Mary Fortune had worked for Andrew McBain, she had heard him threaten his life; and, since his acquittal, this was the first time his name had been mentioned. And he remembered with a start that after he came back from the killing she had refused to take his hand. "What's the matter?" he repeated, but she set her lips and moved away down the hill.
Before the half-breed had time to reply Peter threw up his head, and set off at the touch of his master's spurs. For some moments the two men faced each other in a sort of grim silence. It was already daylight. Sunday morning was breaking under a cloudless sky. At last McBain rose from his seat at the deal table which served him for a desk. He reached out and turned out the lamp.
These were some of the endless pros and cons he debated with his lieutenant, Sergeant McBain, when they sat together planning their next campaign, while awaiting Amberley's reply to both the report of failure, and plea for the future. But Fyles's anxieties were far deeper than McBain's, who was equally involved in the failure. He had far more at stake.
Then he stood for awhile gazing out at the wonderful morning daylight, and drinking in the pure prairie air. While he stood thus his thoughts were busy, and a half smile was in his eyes. He was thinking of the irony of the fact that Kate Seton's superstition had completely taken possession of him. Two hours after sunrise McBain and his superior were at work again.
They had gone less than two hundred yards when the officer saw the shadowy form of the Scot throw itself back in the saddle, and pull his great horse back upon its haunches. Fyles swept up on the swift-footed Peter. He, too, reined up with a jolt and leaped out of the saddle. McBain was on his knees beside the prostrate form of the sentry.
McBain turned white, his stern lips drew tighter and he stood where he had stopped in his stride like a wolf that has seen a fierce dog; then suddenly he swung forward again and his voice rang out harsh and defiant. The new typist took the words down at haphazard, for her thoughts were not on her work. She was thinking of the man with a gun.
I think Kitty Seymour would make a matrimonial agent par excellence young men and maidens introduced under the most favourable circumstances and no fee when suited!" Sandy flourished his arms expressively. "And if she could find a good, sensible lassie to tak' ye in hand, Sandy McBain, I'd no be grudgin' a fee." "No good, mother of mine.
Word Of The Day