Her
little pet weaknesses and her vices give spice to an otherwise
colorless character.
The boat steams down past the tule sloughs. Hardin's cigar burns
late on the deck as he plots alone.
When he looks over his accumulated letters, he seizes eagerly a
packet of papers marked "Havana." Great God!
He has read of Sherman's occupation of Atlanta. The struggle of
Peachtree Creek brought curses on Tecumseh's grizzled head. Now,
with a wildly beating heart, he learns of the death of Colonel
Valois among the captured guns of De Gress. As the last pages are
scanned, he tears open the legal documents. The cold beads stand
out on his brow. He is master now. The king is dead!
He rings for Madame Duval. With shaking hand, he pours a draught
from the nearest decanter. He is utterly unnerved. The prize is at
last within his grasp. It shall be his alone!
Lighting a fresh cigar he paces the room, a human tiger. There is
but one frail girl child between him and Lagunitas, with its uncoined
millions. He must act. To be deep and subtle as a thieving Greek,
to be cold and sneaking as an Apache, to be as murderous as a Malay
creeping, creese in hand, over the bulwarks of a merchantman,--all
that is to be only himself.
Pages:
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358