Explore "Long Odds" by Harold Bindloss on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Except for the two unsightly objects that lay in the soft moonlight, there was no sign of Herrero's boys when Ormsgill walked up the stairway with a rifle in his hand. A little smoke curled from the breech which he opened before he shook hands with Nares.
"It's fortunate I knew where you were, and came round to pick you up," he said, and turned to the head of the station, who leaned upon the balustrade apparently shaken and bewildered by what had happened.