His eyes were as
merciless. At times Falkner caught the same red glint in them. And above
his despair, the utter hopelessness of his situation, there rose in him
an intense hatred and loathing of the man.
Falkner's hands were then securely tied behind him.
"I'd put the irons on you," Carr had explained a hard, emotionless voice,
"only I lost them somewhere back there."
Beyond that he had not said a dozen words. He had built up the fire,
thawed himself out, and helped himself to food. Now, for the first time,
he loosened up a bit.
"I've had a devil of a chase," he said bitterly, a cold glitter in his
eyes as he looked at Falkner. "I've been after you three months, and now
that I've got you this accursed storm is going to hold me up! And I left
my dogs and outfit a mile back in the scrub."
"Better go after 'em," replied Falkner. "If you don't there won't be any
dogs an' outfit by morning."
Corporal Carr rose to his feet and went to the window. In a moment he
turned.
"I'll do that," he said. "Stretch yourself out on the bunk. I'll have to
lace you down pretty tight to keep you from playing a trick on me."
There was something so merciless and brutal in his eyes and voice that
Falkner felt like leaping upon him, even with his hands tied behind his
back.
He was glad, however, that Carr had decided to go. He was, filled with an
overwhelming desire to be rid of him, if only for an hour.
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