Taking a firm grasp of his pistol, Gerald eased back, let go the handle of the door, and at the same instant, swung his booted foot. " "Bull's eye!" piped O'Higgins. She was looking about her, and her face was dark with anger. While he thus vented his rage, the door again opened, and Quilt Arnold rushed into the room, bleeding, and half-dressed. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. Gerald’s task was to stop him from doing so. “You could have a talk to Miss Kitty Brett this afternoon, if you liked. And for me there is only one treasure-house.
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