object upon the bed in the corner, with blood-smeared face and arms and
mad terror in the eyes; the awful cursings and more awful psalm-singing,
punctuated by the quick report of the deadly rifle.

For some moments we stood gazing at one another; then The Duke said, in
a low, fierce tone, more to himself than to us:

"This is the last. There'll be no more of this cursed folly among the
boys."

And I thought it a wise thing in The Pilot that he answered not a word.



CHAPTER VIII

THE PILOT'S GRIP


The situation was one of extreme danger--a madman with a Winchester
rifle. Something must be done and quickly. But what? It would be death
to anyone appearing at the door.

"I'll speak; you keep your eyes on him," said The Duke.

"Hello, Bruce! What's the row?" shouted The Duke.

Instantly the singing stopped. A look of cunning delight came over his
face as, without a word, he got his rifle ready pointed at the door.