“Those men—my patients—were shot,” he said swiftly. “And two others, Madigan and a seaman, were killed.”
A day before such news would have shocked me inexpressibly. Now it seemed only a normal result of the circumstances which Brack had woven about us all.
“And Slade and Harris? Did they get away?” I asked eagerly.
“I don’t know anything about anybody by those names,” he replied. “All I know is what Brack told me: that our men were attacked by a couple of outlaws while hunting in the hills, with the results that I’ve told you. These outlaws shot our men.”
“And did those other fellows—the outlaws—get away?”
“For the present, yes. But Brack’s men are guarding the only pass by which they can get out of this valley, so they can’t get away. The captain says he’ll get them if he has to hunt all Summer. He’s managed to get roaring drunk.”
“And he said something about Miss Baldwin, too, didn’t he? What was it?”
“Well, he was drunk, you know. It makes him look and act and talk like a devil.”
“Go on.”
“He said, ‘I expect we’ll have company here tonight, doctor.’ Said you and Chanler had come and taken Miss Baldwin back to the yacht. ‘But I’ve a feeling they’ll come back here,’ he says. ‘She can’t resist me. Yes,’ he said, ‘they’ll be back, and this time they’ll stay.’ Then he took out a big knife and cut himself in the hand. ‘The blood of kings, doctor,’ he said. ‘I’m king of Kalmut Valley, and I’ll make cripples of Pitt and Chanler, and have them for my jesters, and—’ Well, he was drunk, you know.”