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Curwood, James Oliver, 1879-1927

"The Courage of Marge O'Doone"


"I won't touch him--not now," he growled. "But to-night--oh, God!"
His knuckles snapped.
"You--liar! You--spy! You--sneak!" he cursed through his broken teeth.
David saw where they _had_ been--a cavity in that cruel, battered mouth.
"And you think, after that...."
Again Hauck tried to draw him away. Brokaw flung off his hands angrily.
"I won't touch him--but I'll _tell_ him, Hauck! The devil take me body
and soul if I don't! I want him to know...."
"You're a fool!" cried Hauck. "Stop, or by Heaven!..."
Brokaw opened his mouth and laughed, and David saw the havoc of his
blows.
"You'll do _what_, Hauck? Nothing--that's what you'll do! Ain't I told
him you killed that _napo_ from MacPherson? Ain't I told him enough to
set us both swinging?" He bent over David until his breath struck his
face. "I'm glad you didn't die, Raine," he repeated, "because I want to
see you when you shuffle off. We're only waiting for the Indians to go.
Old Wapi starts with his tribe at sunset. I'm sorry, but we can't get
the heathen away any earlier because he says it's good luck to start a
journey at sunset in the moulting moon. You'll start yours a little
later--as soon as they're out of sound of a rifle shot.


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