He frowned down on Smythe and nodded his shaggy head.
“I’ve just come from seeing that same schooner start on her trip to Rond Eau Bay,” he said, “and heaven help the Bushwhacker that meddles with it or any other property of Colonel Hallibut’s.”
“Perhaps some day you’ll know that Mr. Watson and myself have done our best for you, Colonel,” said Smythe reproachfully. “I know we’ve erred in some respects; but over-zealousness is perhaps the cause of failure. You will pardon my suggesting that you have maybe been unduly influenced against Mr. Watson on account of his not, as yet, having been able to convince the Bushwhackers of your good intentions.”
“Perhaps you are right,” returned Hallibut coolly.
Smythe reached for the bottle and poured some brandy into his glass with a hand that shook. His face, always pinched and gray-white, was grayer and more sunken as he arose to go.
“Have you any word to send to Mr. Watson, sir?” he asked.
“Only that I hope to see him again before he makes up his mind to die,” smiled the Colonel.
Hallibut called to the housekeeper from the dining-room:
“Rachel, get this pale rider something to eat, will you, while I have Dick get out his horse?”
He slapped the drooping Smythe between the shoulders and, laughing loudly, stamped out of the room.