His vision was becoming accustomed to the faint light now and her features were clearer. " "Why what will she say?" inquired Sheppard. The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. . "He must be somewhere hereabouts," cried one of the horsemen, dismounting.
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