And then, for the first time, Wood noticed a small stream of blood coursing slowly down her cheek. This "fatal retreat for the unfortunate brave" was marked by a low wooden railing, within which stood the triple tree. She felt pride sashay into her thoughts. McClintock could not browbeat him, storm as he might. Having now sealed his letter, Sheppard took a handkerchief, and tying it over Shotbolt's face, so as completely to conceal the features, clapped his hat upon his head, and pushed it over his brows. "Your worry is needless. McClintock liked it. You know—I worship you.
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