erik karlsson devils

"Are you not a New Orleans boy?" she asked as I lifted my képi and drew rein.

"Well, that might depend on who 'her' is." We had reached the cross-roads and he was turning south.

"You'll be the first prisoner I ever shot if you get any funnier!"

"Why, I can read my safety in your face. You can't read anything in mine; you're afraid to look."

Another mile, another half; then my horror and dismay broke into gesture and speech, and over and over I reviled myself as a fool, a traitorous fool, to be fooled into confession of my errand! I moaned with physical pain; every fatigue of the long day now levied payment, and my back, knees, shoulders, ached cruelly. But my heart ached most, and I bowed in the saddle and cried--

His companion had no time to fire. Instantly after these two shots came a third, and some willows upstream filled with its white smoke. The second long rifle fell upon the bridge and its owner sank to his knees heaving out long cries of agony that swelled in a tremor of echoes up and down the stream. Another voice, stalwart, elated, cut through it like a sword. "Don't shoot, Smith, we're coming; save that hound for the halter!"

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