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MacGrath, Harold, 1871-1932

"Arms and the Woman"


"Yes. A bullet somewhere in his chest. Help me down with him. He is
not dead yet. I'll tell you the story when we have made it comfortable
for him."
Tenderly we carried the inanimate form of poor Hillars into the inn and
laid it on the sofa. I tore back his blood-wet shirt. The wound was
slightly below the right lung. The bullet had severed an artery, for I
could see that the blood gushed. We worked over him for a few moments,
and then he opened his eyes. He saw me and smiled.
"There wasn't any regiment, old man, but this will suffice. My hand
trembled. But he'll never use his right arm again, curse him!"
"Dan, Dan!" I cried, "what made you do it?"
"When I am a man's friend, it is in life and death. He was in the way.
He may thank liquor that he lives." The lids of his eyes contracted.
"Hurts a little, but it will not be for long, my son. I am bleeding to
death inside. Jack, the woman loves you, and in God's eyes, Princess
or not, she belongs to you. You and I cannot understand these things
which make it impossible for a man and a woman who love each other to
wed.


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