He railed against it,
cursed it, hated himself for beginning to yield. Fate's endless trap
opened yet again before him. . .to what end
?
But no matter how he searched and fought, he could see no other way.
This time, at least, he would force one concession. He drew out the
pistol, and rested its cold muzzle against the Englishman's chest.
"Purceville. Will you swear to me now, on your life, that no matter
what happens to me, you will get Mary out and away from here? I mean
just and only that. In the eyes of God, and on peril of your life, do
you so swear?"
This time there was no hesitation. "That I do most solemnly swear."
"All right, then." Slowly he lowered the pistol, and handed it to
Purceville. "Let's see if you've got any of your father's gift for
deception." Their eyes met, though coldly, and both understood.
Together they crept back from the wall, then rose and moved to the
deeper shadows of a weather-worn tree, where they had left the horse.
Michael himself cut a length from the coiled rope, untied the knots he
had put in it for Mary's rescue, and fastened one end to the saddle.
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