"Some one of them let out a strange, harsh cry. It wasn't Blome or
Snecker--probably Pickens. He dropped the glass he had lifted. The cry
had stilled the room, so the breaking of the glass was plainly heard.
For a space that must have been short, yet seemed long, everybody stood
tight. Steele with both hands out and down, leaned a little, in a way I
had never seen him do. It was the position of a greyhound, but that was
merely the body of him. Steele's nerve, his spirit, his meaning was
there, like lightning about to strike. Blome maintained a ghastly,
stricken silence.
"Then the instant was plain when he realized this was no ghost of
Steele, but the Ranger in the flesh. Blome's whole frame rippled as
thought jerked him out of his trance. His comrades sat stone-still. Then
Hilliard and Pickens dived without rising from the table. Their haste
broke the spell.
"I wish I could tell it as quick as it happened. But Bo Snecker, turning
white as a sheet, stuck to Blome. All the others failed him, as he had
guessed they would fail. Low curses and exclamations were uttered by men
sliding and pressing back, but the principals were mute. I was thinking
hard, yet I had no time to get to Steele's side.
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