There had been a slackening of the fires, and the Champion was all at once found to be fast gaining on the Pontiac.
“Fire up!” yelled the Captain. “Pile on the turpentine splinters. Bring up the rosin. Blast yer all for a set of cowardly cusses! I’m bound to land yer either in Helena or hell, ahead of the Champion.”
CHAPTER XIV.
WAITING FOR THE SUMMONER.
“So every spirit, as it is more pure,
And hath in it the more of heavenly light,
So it the fairer body doth procure,
To habit in, and it more fairly dight
With cheerful grace and amiable sight.
For of the soul the body form doth take,
For soul is form, and doth the body make.”