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Curwood, James Oliver, 1879-1927

"The Courage of Marge O'Doone"


"I should have killed him, an' took her," repeated Brokaw, his voice
heavy with passion. "I should have had her long ago, but Hauck's woman
kept her from me. She's been mine all along, ever since...." His mind
seemed to lag. He drew his hulking shoulders back slowly. "But I'll
have her to-morrow," he mumbled, as if he had suddenly forgotten David
and was talking to himself. "To-morrow. Next day we'll start north.
Hauck can't say anything now. I've paid him. She's mine--mine
now--to-night! By...."
David shuddered at what he saw in the brute's revolting face. It was the
dawning of a sudden, terrible idea. To-night! It blazed there in his
eyes, grown watery again. Quickly David turned out more liquor, and
thrust one of the cups into Brokaw's hand. The giant drank. His body
sank into piggish laxness. For a moment the danger was past. David knew
that time was precious. He must force his hand.
"And if Hauck troubles you," he cried, striking the table a blow with
his fist, "I'll help you settle for him, Brokaw! I'll do it for old
time's sake. I'll do to him what I did to the Breed. The girl's yours.
She's belonged to you for a long time, eh? Tell me about it,
Brokaw--tell me before Hauck comes!"
Could he never make that bloated fiend tell him what he wanted to know?
Brokaw stared at him stupidly, and then all at once he started, as if
some one had pricked him into consciousness, and a slow grin began to
spread over his face.


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