nce.
But as it was I knew, in my inside soul, bleakly, that if Dudley were
dead Macartney had killed him,--as only luck had kept him from killing
me.

I saw him give a quick, flicking sign to his men with the fingers of the
hand that still covered his eyes, and I knew I was right in the last
thing, anyhow, for the men straggled back from us, as to an order. They
were to do nothing now, before Paulette and Marcia, if their first
instructions had been to ambush inside the shack to dispose of me when I
got back from the Halfway,--which I had not been meant to do. I did not
drop my gun hand, or fling the truth at Macartney. But I made no move
to pick up Marcia. I said, "How d'ye mean Dudley's killed? Who killed
him?"

"Wolves!" If Macartney meant me to think he was too sick to answer
properly he was not, for he spoke suddenly to the bunk-house men. "There
is no good in your waiting round, or looking any more. They've got Mr.
Wilbraham, and"--he turned his head to me again--"they damn nearly got
me!"

Later, I wished sincerely that they had, for it would have saved me some
trouble. At that minute all I wanted was to get even with Macartney
myself. I said, "Pick up Marcia and get into the house. You can talk
there!"

Macartney glanced at me. Secretly, perhaps, neither of us wanted to give
the other a chance by stooping for a heavy girl; I knew I was not going
to do it. But Paulette must have feared I was. She sprang past me and
lifted Marcia with smooth, effortless strength, as if she were nothing.

Macartney started, as though he realized he had been a fool not to have
done it himself, and wheeled to walk into the house before us, where he
could have slipped cartridges into his gun; I knew afterwards that it
was empty. But Paulette had moved off with Marcia and a peremptory
gesture of her back-flung head that kept Macartney behind her. I came
behind him. And because he had no idea of all I knew about him, he took
things as they looked on the surface. With Paulette leading, and me on
Macartney's heels, we filed into the living room. There was a light
there, but the fire was out. I guessed Charliet was hiding under his
bed,--in which I wronged him. But I was not worrying about Charliet or
cold rooms then. Paulette laid Marcia down on the floor, and I stood in
the doorway. I did not believe the bunk-house men would come back till
an open row suited Macartney's book, but there was no harm in commanding
the outside doors o