But
for the arm that upheld him, Rondeau would have fallen. To have him
fall, however, was not part of Bryce's plan. Jerking the fellow
toward him, he passed his arm around Rondeau's neck, holding the
latter's head as in a vise with the crook of his elbow. And then the
battering started. When it was finished, Bryce let his man go, and
Rondeau, bloody, sobbing, and semi-conscious, sprawled on the ground.
Bryce bent over him. "Now, damn you," he roared, "who felled that
tree in Cardigan's Redwoods?"
"I did, M'sieur. Enough--I confess!" The words were a whisper.
"Did Colonel Pennington suggest it to you?"
"He want ze burl. By gar, I do not want to fell zat tree--"
"That's all I want to know." Stooping, Bryce seized Rondeau by the
nape of the neck and the slack of his overalls, lifted him shoulder-
high and threw him, as one throws a sack of meal, full at Colonel
Pennington.
"You threw me at him. Now I throw him at you. You damned, thieving,
greedy, hypocritical scoundrel, if it weren't for your years and your
gray hair, I'd kill you."
The helpless hulk of the woods-boss descended upon the Colonel's
expansive chest and sent him crashing earthward. Then Bryce, war-mad,
turned to face the ring of Laguna Grande employees about him.
"Next!" he roared.
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