"When I came to the log there I stopped, but
Bonaparte, lawless old chap, kept on. I paid no attention to him,
for I was thinking of--of something else. He had raced around in the
forbidden underbrush for some time before I heard the report of a gun
near at hand. The dog actually screamed like a human being. I saw him
leap up from the ground and then roll over. Of course, I--well, I
trespassed. Without thinking of my own safety I flew to where the dog
was lying. He looked up into my face and whined just as he died. I
don't remember how I got off the horse. The next I knew I was rushing
blindly into the brush toward a place where I saw smoke, cursing like
a fiend. Then came the second shot and the stinging in my arm. It
brought me to my senses. I stopped and a moment later I saw a man
running down along the bank of the stream. I--oh, well, there isn't
any more to tell. I don't know who fired the shots. I couldn't see his
face."
"It was Tompkins," she cried. "I know it was. He had his orders--" but
she checked herself in confusion.
"His orders? Do you mean to say--Miss Drake, did your brother instruct
him to kill me?" She quailed beneath his look.
"--I can't say anything more about it, Mr. Shaw," she murmured, so
piteously that he was touched. For a seemingly interminable length of
time his hard eyes looked into hers and then they softened.
"I understand," he said simply. "You cannot talk about it. I'll not
ask any questions."
"My brother is weak in her hands," she managed to say in extenuation.
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