The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. When he awoke it was late in the day, and he was surprised to find Blueskin seated by his bedside, watching over him with a drawn sword on his knee, a pistol in each hand, and a blood-stained cloth bound across his brow. She rested for a half hour in heaven on earth, feeling herself drift in and out of sleep. Wrap yourself in my cloak, and keep it. I'll speak to McClintock to-night and see if he won't take us for a junket on The Tigress.
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