These were the men who assembled that night
under the roof of McMurdo for the killing of the Pinkerton
detective.
Their host had placed whisky upon the table, and they had
hastened to prime themselves for the work before them. Baldwin
and Cormac were already half-drunk, and the liquor had brought
out all their ferocity. Cormac placed his hands on the stove for
an instant--it had been lighted, for the nights were still cold.
"That will do," said he, with an oath.
"Ay," said Baldwin, catching his meaning. "If he is strapped to
that, we will have the truth out of him."
"We'll have the truth out of him, never fear," said McMurdo. He
had nerves of steel, this man; for though the whole weight of the
affair was on him his manner was as cool and unconcerned as ever.
The others marked it and applauded.
"You are the one to handle him," said the Boss approvingly. "Not
a warning will he get till your hand is on his throat. It's a
pity there are no shutters to your windows."
McMurdo went from one to the other and drew the curtains tighter.
"Sure no one can spy upon us now. It's close upon the hour.
Pages:
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278