_I_ saw it coming! Who's been trying to crush the swine completely, if not I?
Who's worked night and day to have those bills put through, and who had the army increased, and conscription started?
Who's driven the President to back all sorts of things?
Who's forced them?
Who made the National Mounted Police a reality, if not I?
Damn you, don't include _me_ in your blame!" Waldron shrugged his shoulders, and smoked contemplatively.
"Suit yourself," he answered.

"If we both die, down here, it won't matter much either way." "Die ?" quavered the old jackal, suddenly forgetting his rage and peering about with furtive eyes.

"Did you say die, Wally?
No, no! You didn't say that! You didn't mean that, surely!" Waldron smiled, evilly, joying in this abject fear of his hated partner.
"Oh, yes, I did, though," he retorted.

"It's quite possible, you know.
In case our government--yours, if you prefer--can't get troops through, here, or a big general revolution sweeps things, inside a day or two, we're done.

We'll starve and stifle, here, sure as shooting!" "No, no, no! Not that, not _that_!" whimpered Flint, shuddering.