aside. He tore off the outer cover and unfolded the closely written
pages.

Long, silent moments passed, broken only by the shuffling of the sheets
of the letter as he turned them. Not once did he look up from his
reading. Right through to the end, the dreadful, bitter end, he read the
hideous news his loyal friend had to impart. Twice, during the reading,
the sharp intake of breath, that almost whistled in the silence of the
room, told of an emotion he had no power to repress, and at the finish
of it all the mechanically re-folded page's fell from shaking, nerveless
fingers upon the littered desk.

His eyes remained lowered gazing at the fallen letter. His hands
remained poised where the letter had fallen from them. His face had lost
its healthful hue. It was grey, and drawn, and the lips that parted as
he muttered had completely blanched.

"Dead!" he whispered without consciousness of articulation. "Dead!
Nancy! My boy! Both! Oh, God!"




CHAPTER IV

THE "YELLOW STREAK"


The grey, evening light was significant of the passing season. A chilly
breeze whipped about the faces of the men at the fringe of the woods.