And so he died.
CHAPTER XX
PRISONERS
"Ahoy, the blockhouse!"
Moira stayed her weeping, and I rose from my knees as the hail thundered from the night.
"Dot's Flint," whispered Peter. "You talk to him, Bob, ja."
"What is it?" I shouted back.
"Is Murray with ye?"
"He's dead," I answered after a moment of reflection.
"And that's —— —— lucky for him! Here's Tom Morphew ready to give him a taste of the cat."