"
Bryce turned to go, but with a sudden impulse Shirley laid her hand
on his arm--his left arm. "Bryce!" she murmured.
He lifted her hand gently from his forearm, led her to the front of
the locomotive, and held her hand up to the headlight. Her fingers
were crimson with blood.
"Your uncle's killer did that, Shirley," he said ironically. "It's
only a slight flesh-wound, but that is no fault of your allies. Good-
night."
And he left her standing, pale of face and trembling, in the white
glare of the headlight.
CHAPTER XXXII
Shirley made no effort to detain Bryce Cardigan as he walked to his
car and climbed into it. Ogilvy remained merely long enough to give
orders to the foreman to gather up the tools, store them in the
machine-shop of Cardigan's mill, and dismiss his gang; then he, too,
entered the automobile, and at a word from Bryce, the car slid
noiselessly away into the darkness. The track-cutting crew departed a
few minutes later, and when Shirley found herself alone with her
uncle, the tumult in her heart gave way to the tears she could no
longer repress. Pennington stood by, watching her curiously, coldly.
Presently Shirley mastered her emotion and glanced toward him.
"Well, my dear?" he queried nervously.
"I--I think I had better go home," she said without spirit.
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