Mac
and I came across him--but not soon enough." I stopped and got out
cigarette material in an absent sort of way. My lips, I remember, were
almighty dry just then.
"And dad?" Lyn was looking at me intently, and her voice was steady;
that squeezed kind of steadiness that is almost worse than tears.
"He wasn't with Rutter." I drew a long breath and hurried on, slurring
over the worst of it. "They had got separated. Hans was about done when
we found him--he died in a few minutes--but he told us where to go. Then
we went to look for your father. We found him; too late to do any good.
We buried him--both of them--and came on here."
I felt like a beast, as if I had struck her with my fist, but at any
rate, it was all told; all that she need ever know. I sat still and
watched her, wondering nervously what she would do.
It was a strain to sit there silent, for Lyn neither did or said
anything at first. Perhaps she cried afterward, when she got by herself,
but not then; just looked at me, through me, almost, her face white and
drawn into pained lines, and those purple-blue eyes perfectly black. I
got up at last, and put one hand on her shoulder.
"It's hell, little girl, I know." I said this hardly realizing that I
swore. "We can't bring the old man back to life, but we can surely run
down the cold-blooded devils that killed him.
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