welcome there, I'm sure. Are you going to get up?"
There was neither bodily nor mental muscle left in the man. He had become obsessed with the dread of prison, and he prayed to Dick until Dick's very ears burnt with shame.
"Why can't you leave me alone? I'm not doing any harm up here. Robison's dead. He must be dead. And I'll give you the names of the company. There's John W. Harker, ofDick! Oh, my God! Dick!"
In lieu of a handcuff Dick had taken a piece of fishing-line from his pocket, whipped it round Ducane's wrist, and twisted it there with the strength of his own fingers. It did not hurt their iron-hard sinews; but it sank into Ducane's soft flesh like a string into cheese. Ducane sprang up with a yell and incoherent ravings. Dick laughed softly.
"Why," he said, "I'm not beginning to hurt yet. But a special patrol of Canada is being kept waiting for you, Ducane, and I don't consider it polite to let it wait any longer. Do you prefer to be led out like a puppy on a string?"
Ducane took a step. Then he halted. Dread of the dock with that mocking, lazy voice swearing away his liberty swept over him. He lurched sideways, smashing a heavy blow right into Dick's face. Dick carried the mark under his left eye for months, and he never ceased to regret that Ducane did not follow it up with another. He certainly gave Ducane a glad and cordial invitation; but the man backed away, muttering, "You want to kill me, do you?" and then he followed his captor out into the sunlight.
Half-way down the beach Dick stopped.
"You can go and say good-bye to your wife," he said.
For the first time he saw shame on Ducane's face.
"No," he said sullenly; and Dick shrugged his shoulders.
"As you like," he said indifferently, and led on down to the canoes.
Tempest made the necessary explanations to Good-night, and the uniforms did the rest. Good-night was troubled. Prestige left him with the passing of the white man. But he gave permission graciously, if reluctantly, and watched
