David slipped his pistol into its holster as Bateese bent over
him. He tried to smile at the woman to thank her for her
solicitude--after having nearly killed him. There was an
increasing glow in the night, and he began to see her more
plainly. Out on the middle of the river was a silvery bar of
light. The moon was coming up, a little pale as yet, but
triumphant in the fact that clouds had blotted out the sun an hour
before his time. Between this bar of light and himself he saw the
head of Bateese. It was a wild, savage-looking head, bound pirate-
fashion round the forehead with a huge Hudson's Bay kerchief.
Bateese might have been old Jack Ketch himself bending over to
give the final twist to a victim's neck. His long arms slipped
under David. Gently and without effort he raised him to his feet.
And then, as easily as he might have lifted a child, he trundled
him up in his arms and walked off with him over the sand.
Carrigan had not expected this. He was a little shocked and felt
also the impropriety of the thing. The idea of being lugged off
like a baby was embarrassing, even in the presence of the one who
had deliberately put him in his present condition.
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