Like the rest, he
was holding his weapon, a black, needled-pointed sword, at the
salute. Chick gave him only a glance, then had the presence of
mind to look elsewhere as a man said, in a low, guarded voice:
"Y' air right, me lad; don't look at me. I know what ye're
thinkin'. But she ain't as bad as she looks! Keep yer heart clear;
never fear. You an' me can lick all Thomahlia! Go straight up them
stairs, an' stand that blackguard Senestro on his 'ead, just like
y'd do in Frisco!"
"Who are you?" asked Watson, intent upon the great three-leafed
clover. He used the same low, cautious tone the other had
employed. "Who are you, friend?"
"Pat MacPherson, of course," was the answer. "An' Oi've said a
plenty. Now, go aboot your business."
Watson did not quibble. There was no time to learn more. He did
not wish it to be noticed; yet he could not hide it from the Jan
Lucar and the Rhamda Geos, who were still at his side. They had
heard that tongue before. The looks they exchanged told, however,
that they were gratified rather than displeased by the
interruption. Certainly all feelings of depression left Chick, and
he ascended the stairs with a glad heart and a resilient stride
that could not but be noticed.
He was ready for the Senestro.
XLI
THE PROPHECY
Reaching the top of the jade steps, Chick found the landing to be
a great dais, nearly a hundred feet across.
Pages:
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353