“You can quote poetry as neatly as Rolfe,” the sergeant remarked. “You two are well mated. He should be here to cap your verse.”
“No doubt he could do it better, sergeant, for I understand he is filled with poetry. That piece I quoted is about all I remember, and it seems suitable to the death of that grand old man.”
As the afternoon was now well advanced, Marion and Zell began to prepare supper. When the meal was ready and all gathered at the table, the constable arrived. He looked very tired and worn, but quite cheerful.
“My, I’m glad to be out of hearing of that maniac,” he remarked, as he removed his cap and outer coat. “He’s getting worse all the time, and the swelling in his leg is very bad. I believe it will finish him.”
“Is he well guarded?” the sergeant asked.
“Yes. Several Indians are looking after him.”
“What are you going to do with him?” Hugo enquired.
“Take him to Kynox,” the sergeant replied. “It will be a hard and disagreeable trip. But Rolfe will take several Indians along. You must get away early in the morning, Tom,” he reminded, turning to the constable. “Get everything ready to-night.”
“I have made all preparations, sergeant, and have secured a fine team of dogs. We shall travel fast.”
“Suppose you take my team, sergeant, while I go with Tom,” the doctor suggested. “I am in a hurry, too, and the madman might need special attention on the way. There is little I can do, I am well aware, but then one never knows. The rest of you can travel more leisurely.”
“Are we to close up this house, and leave it just as
