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Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips), 1866-1946

"The Black Box"

Did Craig get away?"
Quest looked gloomily across the stream.
"Craig's in Mexico, right enough," he answered savagely, "but I am
beginning to feel that I could fetch him back out of hell!"


CHAPTER XIV
TONGUES OF FLAME

1.
From the shadows of the trees on the further side of the river, Craig with
strained eyes watched Quest's struggle. He saw him reach Lenora, watched
him struggle to the bank with her, waited until he had lifted her on to
his horse. Then he turned slowly around and faced the one country in the
world where freedom was still possible for him. He looked into a wall of
darkness, penetrated only at one spot by a little blaze of light. Slowly,
with his arm through the bridle of his horse, he limped towards it. As he
drew nearer and discovered its source, he hesitated. The light came
through the uncurtained windows of a saloon, three long, yellow shafts
illuminating the stunted shrubs and sandy places. Craig kept in the shadow
between them and drew a little nearer. From inside he could hear the
thumping of a worn piano, the twanging of a guitar, the rattle of glasses,
the uproarious shouting of men, the shrill laughter of women. The tired
man and the lame horse stole reluctantly a little nearer. Craig listened
once more wearily. It was home he longed for so much--and rest. The very
thought of the place sickened him. Even when he reached the door, he
hesitated and instead of entering stood back amongst the shadows. If only
he could find any other sort of shelter!
Inside, the scene was ordinary enough.


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