* * * * *
Kipley, mingling with the crowd around the shaft house, picking up every shred of information heavy-heartedly, saw with consternation the bulky figure pounding toward them on the Colonel. He was beside the horse’s head when John Carrington drew rein.
“They’ve gone down for ’em,” he said, swiftly, and his voice was weighted with pity: “They’re going to get ’em on the level above.”
John Carrington gave no sign of hearing him. He was trying to dismount.
“Give me your shoulder,” he said, sharply. “This cursed leg——” He groaned as he came awkwardly and heavily to the ground. Then, steadying himself by Kipley’s shoulder, he hurried in that lunging, uneven way to the shaft.
He had flung the bridle automatically over the Colonel’s head, and that sagacious animal, well trained as a cavalry horse, stood motionless, waiting.
Kipley told all he had learned of the story, tersely, as he steadied him along.
Mr. Wade, waiting numbly by the shaft, found himself confronted by two men.
“You,” said a deep voice, strangling with rage, “came up and left my son.”
Mr. Wade raised his tired eyes to meet John Carrington’s bloodshot ones.