Still, he was puzzled because McClintock had not spoken. Swiftly she ran her hands over the carvings, trying to find the lever to the secret panel again. She was aware of the body of the court, of clerks seated at a black table littered with papers, of policemen standing about stiffly with expressions of conscious integrity, and a murmuring background of the heads and shoulders of spectators close behind her. The door was locked; but, with the bars of iron, it was speedily burst open. Most of the horses were dead, all but three stallions and two mares left among what was once a thriving stable. "Did you ever see the like of her?" "No," answered McClintock, gravely. "Hell-hounds!" he cried; "release me!" At the same moment, Quilt Arnold rushed forward with such haste, that, stumbling over William Morgan, he precipitated him into the grave. So long.
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