"
They were half-way along it when he pulled the horse up, and once more
looked down on Winston.
"Your hand is a tolerably good one so long as you are willing to
sacrifice yourself, but it has its weak points, and there is one thing
I could not tolerate," he said.
"What is that?"
Courthorne laughed wickedly. "You wish me to be explicit? Maud
Barrington is devilishly pretty, but it is quite out of the question
that you should ever marry her."
Winston turned towards him with the veins on his forehead swollen.
"Granting that it is so, what is that to you?"
Courthorne nodded as if in comprehension. "Well, I'm probably not
consistent, but one rarely quite loses touch with everything, and if I
believed that my kinswoman was growing fond of a beggarly prairie
farmer, I'd venture to put a sudden stop to your love-making. This, at
least, is perfectly bona fide, Winston."
Winston had borne a good deal of late, and his hatred of the man flared
up. He had no definite intention, but he moved a pace forward, and
Courthorne touched the horse with his heel. It backed, and then,
growing afraid of the blackness about it, plunged, while Winston for
the first time saw that there was a gap in the loosely-laid planking
close behind it. Another plunge or flounder, and horse and rider would
go down together.
For a moment he held his breath and watched. Then, as the beast
resisting its rider's efforts backed again, he sprang forward and
seized the bridle.
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