Now Wilbur has
gone and Jack has ridden home looking like a small-sized thunderstorm,
and now you come with a white face and a blank eye. What hell is
trailin' us, Pierre, what hell is in store for us. You've seen
something, and we want to know what it is."
"A ghost, Jim, that's all."
Bud Mansie said softly: "There's only one ghost that could make you
look like this. Was it McGurk, Pierre?"
Boone commanded: "No more of that, Bud. Boys, we're going to turn in,
and tomorrow we'll climb the hills looking for the two we've lost. But
there's something or someone after us. Lads, I'm thinking our good
days are over. The seven of us have been too many for a small posse
and too fast for a big one, but the seven are down to four. The good
days are over."
And the three answered in a solemn chorus: "The good days are over."
All eyes fixed on Pierre, and his glance was settled on the floor.
The morning brought them no better cheer, for Jack, whose singing
generally wakened them, was not to be coaxed into speech, and when
Pierre entered the room she rose and left the breakfast table.
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