Ancliffe's death was beautiful. I am cold. It's hard to write. All
is darkening. I hear the moan of wind. Forgive me! Neale, the
difference between me and Allie Lee--is a good man's love. Men are
blind to woman's agony. She laid her cheek here--on my breast. I--
who always wanted a child. I shall die alone. No--I think God is
here. There is some one! After all, I was a woman. Neale forgive--
31
"Wor I there?" echoed McDermott, as he wiped the clammy sweat from
his face. "B'gosh, I wor!"
It was half-past five. There appeared to be an unusual number of men
on the street, not so hurried and business-like and merry as
generally, and given to collecting in groups, low-voiced and
excited.
General Lodge drew McDermott inside. "Come. You need a bracer. Man,
you look sick," he said.
At the bar McDermott's brown and knotty hand shook as he lifted a
glass and gulped a drink of whisky.
"Gineral, I ain't the mon I wuz," complained McDermott. "Casey's
gone! An' we had hell wid the Injuns gittin' here. An' thin jest
afther I stepped off the train--it happened."
"What happened? I've heard conflicting reports. My men are out
trying to get news. Tell me, Sandy," replied the general, eagerly.
"Afther hearin' of Casey's finish I was shure needin' stimulants,"
began the Irishman.
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