Oscar's erect figure at salute and his respectful voice brought Claiborne
down from the stars.
"We can get rid of the prisoners to-night--yes?"
"At midnight two secret service men will be here from Washington to
travel with them to Baltimore to their boat. The Baron and my father
arranged it over the telephone from the Springs. The prisoners understand
that they are in serious trouble, and have agreed to go quietly. The
government agents are discreet men. You brought up the buckboard?"
"But the men should be hanged--for they shot our captain, and he may
die."
The little man spoke with sad cadence. A pathos in his erect, sturdy
figure, his lowered tone as he referred to Armitage, touched Claiborne.
"He will get well, Oscar. Everything will seem brighter to-morrow. You
had better sleep until it is time to drive to the train."
Oscar stepped nearer and his voice sank to a whisper.
"I have not forgotten the tall man who died; it is not well for him to go
unburied. You are not a Catholic--no?"
"You need not tell me how--or anything about it--but you are sure he is
quite dead?"
"He is dead; he was a bad man, and died very terribly," said Oscar, and
he took off his hat and drew his sleeve across his forehead.
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