The Wings of Victory by Fred M. White

Meanwhile, Lupas tramped on in that dogged, obstinate way of his for a mile or two across the lonely moor in the direction which Dorn had gone, plodded on with his head hung down and his jaws moving, as if he were some bulldog with his teeth fixed to the throat of his enemy. He made a very sinister and forbidding object on the peaceful landscape as he trudged forward, until at length he came upon two figures seated by the roadside. One was Dorn, smoking a choice cigar, the other was Stafford Hatton inhaling his everlasting cigarettes and rattling on in that inconsequent way of his. He glanced up humorously at Lupas.

"Oh," he said. "By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.' Say, Major, is this cut-throat brigand looking for you or for me?"