The God in the Car: A Novel

"I loved that boy. I never thought of it killing him."

And on thought of the boy came another, and for an instant the stern mouth quivered, and he half-turned towards the box again. Then he jerked his head, muttering again; yet his face was softer, till a heavy frown grew upon it, and he pressed his hand for the shortest moment to his eyes.

It was over – over, though it was to come again. Treading heavily on the floor – there was no lightness left in his step – he reached the door, and found a dozen mounted men waiting for him, and a horse held for him. He looked round on the men; they were fine fellows, tall and stalwart, ready for anything. Slowly a smile broke on his face, an unmirthful smile, that lasted but till he had said,

"Well, boys, we must teach these fellows a little lesson to-day."

His followers laughed and joked, but none joined him where he rode at their head. The chief was a man to follow, not to ride with, they said, half in liking, half in dislike, wholly in trust and deference. Yet in old days he had been good to ride with too.

The car was moving on. Maybe Tom Loring was not very wrong, when he said that he would not care to be the man who sat in it.

THE END