he would have shouted those words even then
without regard to their irrelevance; but he was not able to utter a
sound when Brophy and Latisan and the other men came bearing Flagg into
the house.

The master stoutly refused to be laid in his bed. There was his big
armchair in the middle of the sitting room; he commanded that he be
placed there. "I can't fight lying down. If I can't stand up, I can sit
up."

"Praise the Lord!" cried old Dick, finding an opportunity to interject
his thanksgiving phrase.

"I'll come to you often, Mr. Flagg," promised Ward, taking leave. "I'll
not neglect matters up the river, of course. But I want you to feel that
I'm merely your right hand, moving according to your orders."

He went away with a thrill of sympathy inspiring his new resolution in
behalf of the master's interests. The spectacle that he closed the door
on had pathos in it. The tyrant of the Noda was shut away from the woods
where he had ruled--away from the rush of white water under the prow of
his great bateau; he could hear only the tantalizing summons of the
cataract whose thunder boomed above the village of Adonia.

Latisan had promised to send for the best doctors in the city--he had a
messenger already on the way. But he knew well enough that Echford
Flagg, if he lived, was doomed to sit in that big chair and wield his
scepter vicariously. And Latisan knew, too, what sort of the torments of
perdition Flagg would endure on that account.

In the office of Brophy's tavern Rufus Craig, apparently a casual
wayfarer, was sitting when Latisan entered after leaving the big house
on the ledges.

Craig either felt or assumed contrite concern. "Excuse me, Latisan, but
is it true that Mr. Flagg has suffered a stroke of paralysis?"

"It is true, sir."

"I'm sorry. I'm not on pleasant terms with him, or with you, for that
matter. But I hate to see a good fighter struck down."

Latisan went to the desk and wrote his name on a leaf of the dog-eared
register. He proposed to stay the night at Brophy's and start north in
the morning.

"Go up and take Number Ten," said Brophy, who had been called as a
helper and who had walked down from the mansion with Latisan.

When Craig plodded heavily along the upper corridor, on his way to bed a
little later, the door of Number Ten was open for ventilation; Latisan
was smoking his pipe and reading a newspaper which he had picked up in
the tavern office. His stare, directed at Craig ove