But I could not go to Mrs. Falchion now and
say: "You intend some harm to these two: for God's sake go away and leave
them alone!" I had no real ground for making such a request. Besides, if
there was any catastrophe, any trouble, coming, or possible, that might
hasten it, or, at least, give it point.
I could only wait. I had laid another plan, and from a telegram I had
received in answer to one I had sent, I believed it was working. I did
not despair. I had, indeed, sent a cable to my agent in England, which
was to be forwarded to the address given me by Boyd Madras at Aden. I had
got a reply saying that Boyd Madras had sailed for Canada by the Allan
Line of steamers. I had then telegraphed to a lawyer I knew in Montreal,
and he had replied that he was on the track of the wanderer.
All Viking and Sunburst turned out to Phil Boldrick's funeral. Everything
was done that he had requested. The great whistle roared painfully,
revolvers and guns were fired over his grave, and the new-formed
corporation appeared. He was buried on the top of a foot-hill, which, to
this day, is known as Boldricks' Own.
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