"
"Why?"
"Because I'm tired of fighting. I want peace. I'm--I'm afraid to let
this matter go any further. I'm truly afraid."
"I think I want peace, too," he answered wearily. "I'd be glad to
quit--with honour. And I'll do it, too, if you can induce your uncle
to give me the kind of logging contract I want with his road."
"I couldn't do that, Bryce. He has you whipped--and he is not
merciful to the fallen. You'll have to--surrender unconditionally."
Again she laid her little hand timidly on his wounded forearm.
"Please give up, Bryce--for my sake. If you persist, somebody will
get killed."
"I suppose I'll have to," he murmured sadly. "I dare say you're
right, though one should never admit defeat until he is counted out.
I suppose," he continued bitterly, "your uncle is in high feather
this morning."
"I don't know, Bryce. He left in his motor for San Francisco about
one o'clock this morning."
For an instant Bryce Cardigan stared at her; then a slow, mocking
little smile crept around the corners of his mouth, and his eyes
lighted with mirth.
"Glorious news, my dear Shirley, perfectly glorious! So the old fox
has gone to San Francisco, eh? Left in a hurry and via the overland
route! Couldn't wait for the regular passenger-steamer to-morrow, eh?
Great jumping Jehoshaphat! He must have had important business to
attend to.
Pages:
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373