"Nothing whatever," rejoined the thief-taker, coldly. " "That's the way it goes. It is simply our point of view which is altogether different. Blackness was beginning to consume the cornfield. He smiled complacently. "I will live," cried Blueskin, with a look of the deadliest hatred at Wild, "to be revenged on you. One puts gloves on one’s greedy fingers. She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. Sheppard stopped him. Selecting a key from the heavy bunch committed to him by Austin, he threw open the door, and beheld Blueskin seated at the back of the small chamber, handcuffed, and with his feet confined in a heavy pair of stocks. Perhaps in two or three weeks.
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