"
"And a heathen Chinee ain't a man."
"Quong," said Ajax, in his deep voice, "is hardly a man yet. We call
him Mary, because he looks like a girl. You want him--eh? You are not
satisfied with what you did yesterday? You want him? But--do you want
him _dying_?"
The pack cowered.
"He is dying," said Ajax. "No matter how they live, and a wiser Judge
than any of us will pronounce on that, no matter how they live--are
your own lives clean?--the meanest of these Chinese knows how to die.
One moment, please."
He entered the room where Mary lay blind and deaf to the terror which
had come at last. When Ajax returned, he said quietly: "Come and see
the end of what you began. What? You hang back? By God!--you shall
come."
Dominated by his eye and voice, the pack slunk into the bed-room. Upon
Mary's once comely face the purple weals were criss-crossed; and sores
had broken out wherever the cactus spines had pierced the flesh. A
groan escaped the men who had wrought this evil, and glancing at each
in turn, I caught a glimpse of a quickening remorse, of a horror about
to assume colossal dimensions.
Pages:
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305