The corporal paused again, moistening his dry lips.
“But that isn’t all, Toma. I have still to tell you about—about Inverness. My horse! In my position, lying on the floor, I had a view through the window, and those fiends,” Corporal Rand choked, “brought Inverness around and shot him before my very eyes. After that I saw them drag him away. They came back again and I caught a glimpse of them as they rode off: Burnnel astride Sandy’s horse, and Emery riding Dick’s, the woman bringing up the rear on her own pony.”
Toma’s face had grown dark with suppressed emotion.
“Bad thing they shoot your horse, corporal.”
The deep lines about the policeman’s mouth tightened. The pupils of his eyes were like two steel points, hard, glittering. It was not difficult to see what most aroused his ire. Rand could accept, without complaining, the indignities offered to his own person. Not so, regarding his horse. He loved the animal. Through weary, lonesome days on patrol, it had been his only friend and companion. A strange attachment had grown up between them. Almost any time, Rand would gladly have sacrificed his own life to save that of the fiery little steed.
The wilful, deliberate shooting of this horse was the cause of the corporal’s anger. In his heart, he had sworn revenge.
“You see, Toma,” his voice was strangely calm, “he meant a lot to me—Inverness. I—I hated to see him go. Poor old fellow! I could see his pleading look, when they brought him over opposite the window, and he looked in and saw me.”
Unbidden, a tear came into the corporal’s steely eye and trickled down his cheek. He rose from his chair and strode to the door.
“Why they shoot your horse like that?” Toma wanted to know.
“To insure their escape,” the policeman answered, not turning his head. “If I were released, it would be necessary to follow on foot.”