One of them is was tolerably certain would have set out on the long trail before the morning, but they breed grim men in the bush of Ontario, and no other kind ride very long with the wardens of the prairie.
"Stop where you are," said Courthorne, presently.

"Now then, turn round.

Move a finger or open your lips, and I'll have great pleasure in shooting you.

In the meanwhile you can endeavor to make favor with whatever saint is honored by the charge of you." Shannon smiled in a fashion that resembled a snarl as once more a blink of moonlight shone down upon them, and in place of showing apprehension, his young white face, from which the bronze had faded, was venomous.
"And my folks were Orange, but what does that matter now ?" said he.
"There'll be one of us in--to-morrow, but for the shame ye put on Larry ye'll carry my mark there with ye." Courthorne looked at him with a little glow in his eyes.

"You haven't felt mine yet," he said.