Trailin'!

the skin, drives the ache of sleep from the brain, and washes away at once all the recorded thoughts of yesterday. So in place of a crowded sla

e usual "Good-morning, sir," "Good-morning, Anthony," and then they took their places at the table. A cautious survey of the craglik

house until further orders: "You asked me to speak to you, sir, be

: "You've worn your horses out late

cleared the sky of its vapours, so he chose a nook in the library where the bright spring sun shone full and the open fire supplied the warmth. At lunch his father did not appear, and Peters announced that the master was busy

pt in the house until the silent drama was played out. But when he sat in the library that evening his father came in and quietly drew up a chair by the fire. The stage was ideally set for a confidence, bu

d into it the old-fashioned Dutch clock in the corner sent its voice with a monotonous, softly clanging toll of seconds, until Anthony forgot the moonlight over the outside terraces to watch the gradual sway of the pendulum. A minute, spent in this ma

tching reality run past and never stirring himself to take advantage of the thousand opportunities for action. He would have discarded it for a part of his dream, had not he seen Jo

me it was unmistakably

ome out

e secret room. Hardly had the clang of the closing door died out when he reappeared, fumbling at his throat. Straight t

s sword from him who has just given the accolade, and stared down at it

alled, "I wi

at the open

id his harsh voice, "but if I don't

matically in answer to the name of Bard. John Bard! It struck on his consciousness like two hammer blows wrecking some fragile fabric; it jarred home like the timed blow of a pugilist. Woodbury? There might be a thousand men capable of that

omething fluttered the fallen newspaper as if a ghost-hand grasped it but had not the strength to raise; and the window rattled, with a sharp gust of wind. The last m

ide like a runner starting a distance race. First he skirted the row of poplars on the drive; then doubled back across the meadow to his right and ran in a sharp-angling course across an orchard of apple trees. Diverging

ding out with a measured step, and it was not until they moved that he caught the glint of metal at the side of one of them and knew that one was the man who had answered to the name of John Bard and the other was the grey man who had spoken to him at the Garden the night

at the same instant, the metal in their hands glinted in an up

turned his head, and then fled into the grove of trees which topped the next rise of ground. After him, running as he had never before raced, went Anthony; his hand, as he sprinted, already tensed for the comi

e side and he saw John

tride shorte

tho

g John Bard collapsed on the grass, and when Anthony knelt beside him a voice in rough dialect began, as if an

e bullet stri

t ain't no use t

w him; it's n

n struggled

w, lad, if y

Give me hi

e of God. You have no

law will

. For God's

hing. But now li

uldn't end no other

your re

, Anthony, for m

as if fighting si

John Bard and it seemed to him that there was still a faint pulse. With his pocket knife he ripped away the coat from the great chest and then tore open the shirt. On th

d opened his eyes again and said, as if in his d

he story, lad. D

r? In God's n

l me; do you fo

for he murmured: "Even Joa