The Washington herald., 1907-12-20
CHAPTER XLIII-Continued.

Yes. I played with him as a cat does
with mouse. now surging along as If
to end him. and anon drawing slowly off.
But mile OF two further there is a
curious dip in the road, down which we
raced. A tail obelisk, doubtless set there
in memory Of some great fighter of times
long past-perhaps the black George Of
Galloway-crowned little heather
mound 10 the right
4 could see the yellow French car
slacken speed as il took the hill opposite.
On the contrary, the weight of my Mer-
cedes carried her 90 the -op with I'M
abated force. He needed fuel. too, and
was beginning to know it. Before me
1 saw the wide country spread 20 a
horizon Of low whale-back ridges. with
the rocks have spoken of called
'clints) all about-a dreary place. bu.
fit for my work. There was also long
ditch showing black among the turfy
heather. all gashed into deep cracks. and
proper for my purpose as If it had been
made so. AS; saith Pope Nicholas. 1t
was indeed. I have confessed to him
already since my return, for he is high
in the committees.
Then, because it was time to end. I
caused the heavy Mercedes to sweep up
abreast of the lighter French car from
the right side 1t was a narrow way.
Fair on The chassis. a little before the
rear wheel, / struck, and our weight and
force turned the yellow car over into a
little ravine. But NichOlaivIch Negotin,
who was James Kahn. stood on his feet
and leaped. casting his coat, in which
was the plumber Of his master. well be-
fore him. He landed fair and stopped TO
gather UP his treasure. But. seeing my
face, as ] think, under the crook Of his
arm. he left all and fled for his life
" Truly saith our Papa Batyusldn,
the holy Nicholas, ALI that a man hath
will he give for his life He saw me
stand up in the Mercedes. fitting the
stock upon the MaUser pistol. lie
screamed and ran. I laughed.
1T sounded curious, even to myself in
that lonely place. You see. there was
only I, the quiet clerk known 10 you as
John Casimir. All of mine We're dead
So they could not laugh-at least not
aloud. But the curious thing is that
as 1 drove the nickel cartridges off the
little band of bent metal. I felt the little
cold fingers which l had always had on
my wrists slide upward. helping me 10
press them into the reservoir.
Then there began that pursuit which
will live with me all my days-that, in
deed, for which I had prayed-if such as
! can pray. Now, James Kahn had lived
holly, and, accordingly, he was no match
for me at the Tunning-no more than
his French car had been; so 1 ran higher
on dryer ground. and, pausing, occasion
ally. shot high and low and every way
about him. tt is no child's tale to spin
L.
ii short He ran and screamed. And
well. I ran the faster until he was
all out Of breath. finding. however, the
time 70 tell him over his shoulder of that
day among the mountains, 10 remind him
of his laughter and his fathers, Of the
little ones who ran TO seek the safety
they never found. and Of a daughter Of
mine whose life he was responsible for
taking. And he hid his face and scream
ed-ah, as none Of ours had done Then
he came to the head of the long black
gully filed with water. Half full It was.
or r little more. As he made the half
turn to save himself across the moor. I
ran close beside him, keeping alongside
ike a friend. lie had no life left in
hlm-scarcely even to beg for mercy. !
do him this justice-I do not think that
he did-knowing it altogether useless and
vain.
Then babe him laugh as he had done
that red day Of the white snow from be-
hind the powders toward which the chill
dren ran. my brothers and my sisters
And lol he did IL, hearing through his
deadly fear my voice as a condemned
soldier hears the word of command which
orders the platoon to fire.
Yes, he laughed, as when my little
daughter dropped sideways across my
shoulders. Yes, he laughed. running and
laughing, believe me who will. 1t is true.
and, as he turned sideways at the end
Of the water gorge. I shot him quietly
and steadily, as if taking aim at a tar
get. And then, for the first time for
years. the grasp Of those cold little fin
gers Of my dead daughter dropped from
off my wrists"