"This is no place for you," Vassall went on earnestly; "I beg that you
will go to Mrs. Worsley, and let us attend to this."
"No place for me?" Linda burst out. "What do you think I am, a doll?
I can be as much help to Jack as you can!"
Vassall turned pale at the sound of the familiar name on her lips.
Garrod stood motionless, apparently neither seeing nor hearing.
"He's quiet enough now," said Jack rubbing his chin; "but you can't
tell when he may break out again. A tent is no place to keep a madman.
We'll have to tie him up, Vassall."
"Oh, we can't do that," murmured the other man. He all but wrung his
hands. "This is too dreadful! Miss Linda, I beg of you! What will
Sir Bryson say?"
Linda's eyes passed contemptuously over him. "What is there I can do?"
she asked Jack.
"Find Jean Paul," he said.
As if evoked by the sound of his name, the half-breed issued at that
moment from among the trees on their left, and approached them. If his
designs had miscarried, he gave no sign of it. One could hardly have
guessed that he harboured designs. His face was as smooth as velvet,
his manner calm, respectful, inquiring.
"Wat's the matter?" he asked. He looked at Garrod and appeared to
comprehend with a start. "Ah, weh-ti-go!" he said, using the Cree word
for madness. He shook his head in sober compassion. "I t'ink so me,
before; many days he is act fonny."
It was perfection, and Jack was completely taken in. It seemed good to
him to find some one quiet and capable. "He will have to be tied up
and watched," said Jack. "He tried to launch me into the canyon."
"Wah! Wah!" exclaimed Jean Paul, holding up his hands at the thought.
"I put him in my tent," he went on. "You and I all time watch him."
Thus Garrod was given in charge of Jean Paul, as Jean Paul had
designed. He led him away, looking rather amused. White men were so
easy to fool.
Jack went back for the gun, and to search up and down in case he might
have dropped the precious note-book on the shore. Linda tagged after
him, and Vassall followed Linda, because he could not support his
bewilderment and dismay alone.
"What are you looking for?" Linda kept asking.
"Something I lost out of my pocket," Jack said; "a note-book." He
could not bring himself to tell her more.
It was not there of course. The canyon had it long before this. When
they returned to camp Humpy Jull was carrying lunch into the big tent.
Linda commanded Jack to change his clothes and come and eat with them.
He shook his head.
She stamped her foot. "You must come! Kate has to be told. We need
you to hold us together. Kate!" she called out. "Make him come and
have lunch with us."
Mrs. Worsley nodded and smiled from the door of the tent.
"Very well," said Jack. "One minute."
Then Linda perversely frowned and bit her lip because Kate could bring
him with a nod, where she was unable to command.
It was not a cheerful meal that followed. Jack told Mrs. Worsley
briefly what had happened, Vassall supplying a lamentable chorus. Mrs.
Worsley took it with raised eyebrows and closed lips. Afterward Jack
relapsed into silence. He had difficult matters of his own to think
of. None of them knew of his intimate connection with Garrod, and it
was impossible for him to speak to them of what concerned him so
closely. Meanwhile the three talked as people always talk, of Garrod's
strange behaviour during the last few days, and how anybody could have
seen what was going to happen, if anybody had thought.
After they had come out of the tent, Jack saw Mary stroll through the
trees on the westerly side of camp. His eye brightened. Since they
were back so soon they must have been successful. Mary quietly set to
work to prepare their dinner. In a little while Davy appeared dragging
the saddles.
"What have they been up to?" Linda said curiously. "They've been gone
all morning."
"I suppose they have their own matters to attend to," Mrs. Worsley
said, relieving Jack of the necessity of answering.
When a decent interval had elapsed Jack strolled over to the Cranston's
fire. "Were you in time?" he asked casually.
Mary raised a face as controlled as his own. "Yes," she said. "We did
what you told us."
"Did you meet the other party?" he asked anxiously.
She shook her head. "We found your raft," she said; "so we had plenty
of time. We landed above Seven-Mile Creek, so they could not see the
raft when they came up. After we had marked the posts we crossed the
little stream, and came back on that side, as they went up the other.
We heard them. The Indians would see our tracks of course, but Sir
Bryson pays no attention to them."
"Good!" said Jack. "That has turned out all all right, anyway."
Mary searched his face, and a flash of anxiety appeared in her quiet
eyes. "Something has happened here?" she said.
Jack nodded. His constricted breast welled up. Here was somebody he
could tell. He did not reflect on the ambiguity of the situation. He
only knew instinctively that he needed help, and that help was to be
had in those deep eyes. However, he stuck to the bare facts of his
narrative.
"There's a good deal beneath that," said Mary.
"Yes," he said. "I'll tell you when I can."
"You must let me help you," she said earnestly. "I understand the
people so much better than you can."
"The people?" he said surprised.
"The natives," she said. "I think that Jean Paul is at the bottom of
this."
Jack stared at her. This was quite a new thought to him. It required
consideration.
Their further talk was prevented by the customary shrill hail from up
river, announcing the return of the boat party. Travelling downstream,
they were able to make ten miles an hour, consequently they arrived
close on the heels of the Cranstons, who had left Seven-Mile Creek an
hour before them.
Jack went back to the others at the door of the big tent. Linda
received him sulkily, but he made believe not to be aware of it.
"Who will tell Sir Bryson?" murmured Vassall.
"I will," said Jack firmly. "I have to talk to him anyway."
"What about?" demanded Linda.
"Mining claims," said Jack "and other things! There has to be a
general showdown to-night." He spoke with affected carelessness,
nevertheless his heart was beating at the thought of what he must go
through with.
They looked at him questioningly.
"You may as well all know it," said Jack. "I am Malcolm Piers."
Before Mrs. Worsley and Vassall had time to recover from their
stupefaction at this announcement, Sir Bryson and Baldwin Ferrie came
striding from the river-bank. It appeared as if all Sir Bryson's river
expeditions were doomed to disappointment. Again he was in a furious
temper, and trying without success to conceal it. He passed inside the
tent without noticing anybody. Baldwin Ferrie followed him. Jack,
without waiting for a command, went in after them.
Sir Bryson flung himself into a chair, and opened up on Jack without
any preliminaries. "You say you have worked up and down this pass," he
said. "Did you ever hear the name Malcolm Piers?"
"Yes, sir," he said.
Sir Bryson leaned forward in his chair, and peered at Jack through
squeezed-up eyes in a way that he intended to be magisterial and
intimidating. "Where is this fellow now?" he barked.
Jack smiled a little grimly. "He is before you," he said quietly. "I
am Malcolm Piers."
Sir Bryson fell back in his chair, and puffed. He appeared to have
suffered a sudden loss of motive power. "Well, well, I knew that," he
said flatly. "But I didn't expect you to have the assurance to admit
it to my face."
"I have no reason to conceal my name," said Jack.
Sir Bryson gradually worked himself up again. "No reason?" he cried.
"You young blackguard! It was an honourable name until it descended to
you! I ought to have guessed the truth from your intimacy with the
details of these swindling operations. No reason? We'll see what the
law has to say to that!"
"The law?" said Jack, quickly. "The money which I did not take has
been paid into the bank. What has the law to do with it?"
Sir Bryson smiled disagreeably. "Apparently you do not know," he said,
"that you are under indictment for grand larceny, and that your uncle,
Mr. McInnes, directed his executors to see that you were prosecuted
whenever you should be found."
This was a staggerer for Jack.
"Aha! that touches you!" said Sir Bryson. "That shakes your impudence,
eh? Moreover, I do not think the province of Athabasca, of which I
have the honour to be chief executive, will raise any obstacles to
giving you up to the province of Quebec!"
Jack felt a little sick with helpless rage. He drew the mask of
obstinacy over his face, and held his tongue. What could he say? It
would only draw down their ridicule for him to confess that the only
witness to his innocence was an insane man.
He submitted to receive a long moral lecture in Sir Bryson's best vein.
"Do you realize," the governor said in conclusion, "that as the head of
this province it is my duty to put you under arrest, and hand you over
to the authorities?"
Jack by this time had been goaded pretty far. "And so prevent me from
filing my claim?" he said with a dangerous light in his eyes.
Sir Bryson swelled and puffed. "Tut!" he said. "Naturally the
government does not intend that its valuable mining privileges shall
fall into the hands of felons."
"I am not yet a felon," said Jack quietly; "and the three claims are
not yet yours."
It was Sir Bryson's turn to grow red. There were no papers handy, and
he fussed with his watch charm. "As to the other two claims," he said
finally, "you have overreached yourself there. The notices on the
posts are dated to-day, and it will be easy to prove that your friends
could not have got there before we did to-day."
Jack found a momentary pleasure in describing to Sir Bryson how it had
been done.
Naturally Sir Bryson was infuriated. "So it appears I have been
harbouring a conspiracy!" he shouted.
"Nothing of the kind," said Jack. "The three claims were staked out
before you came into the country. Isn't the rest of the creek enough
for you? There's plenty of pay dirt. I have worked for five years to
find this place, and the best of it belongs to me by right."
"Hold your tongue!" cried Sir Bryson tremblingly. "Don't attempt to
bandy words with me! You can go until I decide what is to be done with
you!"
It occurred to Jack dimly that he was scarcely acting the part of
prudence in thus exasperating his judge to the highest degree, and he
cooled down. So they were not going to put him under restraint
immediately. It would have been rather difficult anyway. With all his
anger there was an uncandid look in the little governor's eye. Jack
wondered what he was getting at. Suddenly the idea went through his
mind that Sir Bryson hoped he might ride out of camp that night, and
never show his face again. In other words, the unspoken proposal was:
his liberty in exchange for his claims. Jack smiled a little at the
thought, his fighting smile.
"What are you waiting for?" demanded Sir Bryson.
"I have something to tell you," Jack said, mildly. "Garrod----"
"What about him?"
"He is very sick. He appears to have gone out of his mind."
"What nonsense is this?" puffed Sir Bryson.
"Mad, insane, crazy; whatever word you like," said Jack.
The little governor was startled out of his pomposity. He turned to
Baldwin Ferrie, plucking at his beard. For the moment he forgot his
animosity against Jack, and asked him innumerable questions.
"Set you adrift?" he said, when Jack had told his tale. "What could
have led him to do that?"
This was the moment Jack had been dreading. He drew a long breath,
and, looking Sir Bryson in the eye, told him the whole story of himself
and Frank Garrod. Sir Bryson, as Jack expected, sneered and
pooh-poohed it throughout. On the face of it, it was a fantastic and
improbable tale, but a disinterested person seeing Jack's set jaw and
level eyes, and hearing his painstakingly detailed account, could
scarcely have doubted he was telling the truth. Baldwin Ferrie was
impressed, and he was not altogether disinterested.
"Lost the note-book, eh?" sneered Sir Bryson. "And you expect me to
believe this on your unsupported word! Garrod's life has been
exemplary!"
"Miss Trangmar saw me when I was cast adrift," said Jack patiently.
"As to the rest, I think Garrod will bear me out, if he ever comes to
his right senses. Why not have him in here now, and look him over? He
may be better."
Sir Bryson was very much excited. He called Vassall into the tent, and
the three men held a whispered consultation. Presently Linda came in,
pale and charged with emotion. She headed directly for Jack. He
fended her off with a look.
"If you give anything away, it will queer me for good with this crowd,"
he swiftly whispered.
She could not but perceive the force of this. A spasm passed over her
face. Turning, she sat in a chair near the door, doing her best to
look unconcerned.
When Sir Bryson saw her, he said: "We have important matters to
discuss, my dear."
"It's only a tent," said Linda. "You can hear every word outside
anyway."
"My dear----" began Sir Bryson.
"I'm going to stay," said Linda tempestuously, and that was the end of
it.
The upshot of the consultation was that Jack should be confronted with
Garrod. Sir Bryson was opposed to it, but the other two overruled him.
Vassall went off to get Garrod, and they waited.
Sir Bryson's table was toward the top of the tent, and as he sat he
faced the door. He frowned, and tapped on the table and pulled his
beard. Occasionally, in spite of himself, his eyes bolted. It was as
if a horrible doubt kept recurring to him that the situation was
getting too much for him; that he had stirred up more than he was able
to settle. Jack stood to the right of the table, with his upper lip
drawn in, his face as hard as a wall. Poor Jack had no ingratiating
ways when he was put on the defensive. Mrs. Worsley stole into the
tent, and, sitting beside Linda, took her trembling hand. Baldwin
Ferrie bent over them, and with a pale face whispered soothing things
that they made no pretence of listening to.
At last Vassall pulled the tent flap back, and Garrod came in. He was
well-brushed and tended. He walked without assistance, and his face
was composed. Manifestly another change had taken place in him during
the last few hours, a change for the better. Jack's heart began to
beat more hopefully. There was still something queer about Garrod's
eyes. Jean Paul Ascota and Vassall followed him in.
The half-breed constituted himself the sick man's nurse. Seeing a
chair, he placed it for him at Sir Bryson's left, and Garrod sat down.
Garrod had not greeted anybody on entering. Jean Paul stood over him
watchful and solicitous. Mary's warning occurred to Jack, but what was
he to do? The half-breed's attitude was irreproachable.
"I am sorry to hear that you have been very sick, Mr. Garrod," Sir
Bryson began.
"Yes, sir," said Garrod composedly. "My head has been troubling me
very much."
There was a curious, stiff quality in Garrod's voice, but that might
easily have been accounted for by what he had been through. In spite
of the man's apparent recovery, a dull anxiety that he could not
explain, began to shape itself in Jack's breast.
"You are quite yourself again?" continued Sir Bryson.
"Yes, sir," said Garrod.
"Do you remember what happened this morning?"
"Yes, sir, up to a certain point. I had a shock."
"Um!" said Sir Bryson. "This man," pointing to Jack, "accuses you of
setting him adrift in the current. Is it true?"
There was a slight pause before each of Garrod's answers. This time
his hearers held their breaths.
"There is some mistake," he said composedly. "He was working in the
boat, and it must have drifted off. I was asleep."
The pent-up breaths escaped. Jack turned a little paler, and set his
teeth. He was not surprised; something had warned him of what was
coming. Sir Bryson looked at his daughter.
"Linda, I understand that you were present," he said. "Did you see Mr.
Garrod push the boat off?"
"He did it," she began excitedly. "I know he did it."
"I asked you if you saw him do it?" Sir Bryson said severely.
"No," she said sullenly. "It was already adrift when I came."
Sir Bryson, with a satisfied air, turned back to Garrod. "Do you know
this man?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," said Garrod. "It is Malcolm Piers. We were friends years
ago, before he ran away."
Jack looked at him with a kind of grim surprise.
"He claims," continued Sir Bryson, "that you were the only person who
knew of his intention to leave Montreal for good, and that after he had
gone you took the money and let the theft be fastened on him. Is that
true?"
There was the same tense pause while they waited for the answer.
"It is not true," said Garrod. "I knew he was going away, but I knew
nothing about the money until the shortage was discovered." There was
a pause, and then Garrod went on in his level, toneless voice, "I never
accused him of taking it. I was the only one who stood up for him.
You can ask anybody who worked in the bank."
A note of bitter laughter escaped from Jack.
Sir Bryson frowned. "He says," he went on, "that you wrote a statement
this morning confessing that you took the money."
There was a longer pause before Garrod spoke. "Before or after the
accident of the boat?" he asked.
Sir Bryson looked at Jack.
"Before," said Jack indifferently.
"It is not true," said Garrod. "I remember everything that happened up
to that time."
Sir Bryson appealed to the company at large. "Surely we have heard
enough," he said. "We have laid bare an impudent attempt on the part
of this young man to fasten his crime on one whom he thought incapable
of defending himself." He looked at Jack with the most terrible air he
could muster. "Have you anything to say for yourself now?" he barked.
Jack screwed down the clamps of his self-control. "No," he said.
"Take Mr. Garrod back to your tent, then, Jean Paul," Sir Bryson said
graciously. "Tend him well, and we will all be grateful."
Before any move was made the company was electrified by a new voice:
"May I speak if you please, Sir Bryson?" They turned to see Mary
Cranston standing within the door, resolute in her confusion.
Linda half rose with an exclamation. At the touch of Kate's hand she
sank back, twisting her handkerchief into a rag, her lips trembling,
her pained eyes darting from Mary's face to Jack's and back again.
Sir Bryson sneered. "Eavesdropping?" he said.
"I was listening," said Mary firmly. "It is good that I was. You are
all blind!"
"Indeed!" said Sir Bryson jocularly, looking all around to share the
joke. "Is it possible?"
Nobody laughed, however. Mary was not put out by his sneers. She
pointed at Garrod. "He doesn't know what he's saying," she said. "His
lips are speaking at the command of another mind! It is hypnotism! If
you don't believe, look at him!"
The seven faces turned toward Garrod with a simultaneous start. Jean
Paul's astonishment was admirably done.
"See by his eyes, his voice, the whole look of him!" Mary went on. "He
doesn't even hear what I am saying now!"
None of those who looked could help but be struck by Garrod's
extraordinary apathy. He sat, as he had continued to sit since he came
in, looking before him with eyes devoid of all expression.
"Garrod!" said Sir Bryson sharply.
After the usual pause Garrod replied like an automaton without moving
his eyes: "Yes, Sir Bryson?"
The governor was very much shaken. "Well, well," he stammered. "If
it's hypnotism, who's doing it?"
Mary looked squarely at the man she accused. "Ask Jean Paul Ascota,
the wonder-worker, the conjurer, the medicine man!"
Jean Paul started, and looked at her with a deprecating smile. From
her he looked at Sir Bryson with the hint of a shrug, as much as to ask
him to excuse her for what she was saying. It was almost too well
done. Mary's eyes clung to him steadily, and any one who looked hard
enough could have seen uneasiness behind the man's smiling mask. Sir
Bryson, however, wished to be deceived.
He puffed and blew. "Preposterous!" he cried, casting his eyes around
the little circle for support.
"Send Jean Paul away out of sight and hearing, and we will see if I am
right," said Mary.
"I'll do no such thing," said Sir Bryson irritably. "We all know what
your interest is in this case, my young lady. You are one of the
beneficiaries of this young rascal's generosity!"
Jack suddenly came to life. He turned red, and leaned threateningly
over Sir Bryson's table. "Sir Bryson----" he began with glittering
eyes.
"Stop!" cried Mary in a voice that silenced Jack's own. "It is nothing
to me what he thinks of me. I only want to see the truth come out!"
Only Kate Worsley's restraining arm kept Linda from jumping up. She
was trembling all over.
"If there is any justice here you can't refuse to do what I ask," Mary
continued, with her eyes fixed on Sir Bryson. It appeared that the
quiet eyes could flash at need.
The little governor desired strongly to refuse. He pished, and
pshawed, and fussed with his watch-chain, avoiding the disconcerting
eyes. But the others in the tent were dead against him. They were of
Anglo-Saxon stock, and an appeal to justice had been made. Sir Bryson
could not support the silent opposition of his whole party.
"Very well, I suppose we must go through with the farce," he said
pettishly. "Jean Paul, will you oblige me by stepping outside for a
moment?"
"He must go as far away as the river bank," said Mary. "And some one
must go with him."
"I'll go," said Vassall.
The two men went out.
"Now ask him questions," said Mary.
Garrod's eyes looked after Jean Paul uneasily. He half rose as if to
follow. There was something inhuman in his aspect. Baldwin Ferrie
laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. All their hearts were beating
fast as they watched and listened.
"Garrod, can--can you remember what happened this morning?" stammered
Sir Bryson.
"I want to go," muttered Garrod.
"Frank, don't you know me?" asked Jack.
No reply.
"Frank, didn't you tell me you took the money?" Jack persisted.
Garrod's fingers pulled at his hanging lip, and the vacant eyes
remained turned toward the door.
"Garrod, can't you hear me?" demanded Sir Bryson sharply.
"I must go," muttered Garrod.
It was a painful exhibition. The beholders were a little sickened, and
none of them wished to prolong it. Baldwin Ferrie went to the opening
to call Vassall and Jean Paul back.
"Are you satisfied?" asked Mary of Sir Bryson.
"Satisfied of nothing!" he snapped. "The man is out of his wits. I
knew that before. We are just where we started!"
Mary's cheeks reddened with generous indignation. "Not quite," she
said quickly. "You were going to believe what he said before. I have
shown you that he was irresponsible then as well as now. Let me take
care of him," she pleaded. "Perhaps I can nurse him back to his
senses."
"Thank you," said Sir Bryson with a disagreeable smile, "but I will see
that Mr. Garrod has _disinterested_ care."
Mary's eyes widened with alarm. "Not Jean Paul! After what I have
shown you!"
Jean Paul had come in, and was bending solicitously over Garrod.
Sir Bryson glanced at them. "You have shown me nothing to his
discredit," he said.
"You won't see anything but what you wish to see!" cried Mary
indignantly. "Is this your justice, your disinterestedness?"
Sir Bryson lost his temper. "That will do!" he snapped rapping on the
table. "I am the master here and I will do as I see fit. The truth is
clear to all reasonable people," he went on, his eyes travelling around
the circle again. "Of course I understand that to you and your
lover----"
He got no further. Linda sprang up like a released bowstring. "It's a
lie!" she cried, her small white face working with passion.
"Linda! Linda!" implored Mrs. Worsley, following her aghast.
Linda thrust her away with a strength more than her own. "Let me
alone!" she cried. "I won't be quiet any longer! I can't stand it!"
She ran across the grass, and clung to Jack's arm, facing Mary. Gone
were all the pretty affectations and refinements; this was the
primitive woman. "He's not hers!" she cried hysterically. "He's mine!
He's mine! She's trying to take him from me by making believe to
defend him. I can defend him as well as she can. I don't believe he's
guilty either. I don't care if he is or not. I love him, and he loves
me!"
[Illustration: "He's not hers!" she cried hysterically.]
A dreadful silence in the tent succeeded this outburst, broken only by
Linda's tempestuous sobs. She hid her face on Jack's shoulder. His
arm was around her; a man could do no less. Vassall and Ferrie turned
away their heads, shamed and sick at heart to see the lady of their
dreams so abase herself. Mrs. Worsley sank back in her chair, and
covered her face with her hands.
Mary Cranston, just now all alive, and warm and eager, turned to ice
where she stood. Jack was fiery red and scowling like a pirate. For a
second his eyes sought Mary's imploringly. Seeing no hope there, he
stiffened his back, and drew on the old scornful, stubborn mask,
letting them think what they chose. If he had had a moustache he would
have twirled it in their faces. Sir Bryson was staring at his daughter
clownishly.
Mary broke the silence. "I am sorry," she said, smoothly and clearly,
"that the young lady has misunderstood my reasons for mixing myself in
this. She need not distress herself any further. Malcolm Piers is
nothing to me, nor I to him. If she still thinks I have any share in
him, I cheerfully give it to her here and now."
With that she was gone. David Cranston would have been proud of her
exit. Not until after she had gone did any of those present realize
the wonder of it, that as long as she had remained in the tent this
native girl of less than twenty years had dominated them all.
Sir Bryson's faculties were completely scattered. His eyes were almost
as blank as Garrod's; his hands trembled; his breathing was stertorous.
Whatever his absurdities and weaknesses, at that moment the little man
was an object worthy of compassion. Gradually his voice returned to
him.
"Linda! How can you shame me so!" he murmured huskily. Then in a
stronger voice: "Leave that man!" He turned to Kate Worsley. "Take
her away."
The storm of Linda's passion passed with the departure of the other
woman. She was now terrified by what she had done. She allowed
herself to be led away, weeping brokenly.
Sir Bryson turned to Jack. "As for you, you young blackguard," he said
tremulously, "you needn't expect to profit by this. If she persists in
her infatuation she is no daughter of mine. But I'll save her if I
can."
Jack's chin stuck out. He said nothing.
Jean Paul had listened to all this, outwardly shocked, but with the
hint of a smirk playing around the corners of his lips. Fate was
unexpectedly playing into his hands! He now looked at Sir Bryson for
orders, and Sir Bryson, as if in answer, rose and said:
"Jean Paul, I order you to arrest this man. Secure him, and keep him
under guard until we can reach the nearest police post. Mr. Vassall
and Mr. Ferrie will assist you."
The other two men who, up to the moment of Linda's avowal, had been
well enough disposed toward Jack, now turned hard and inimical faces
against him, and hastened to lend Jean Paul their aid. All this while
Garrod sat in his chair staring dully before him.
Jack's hands clenched, and his eyes shot out cold sparks. "Keep your
hands off me," he said. "All of you!"
Jean Paul with an air of bravado motioned Vassall and Ferrie back. To
outward appearances he was fully Jack's match. Lacking an inch or two
of his height, he more than made it up in breadth of trunk, and length
of arm. He slowly approached the white man, alert and smiling evilly.
For a moment they measured each other warily, Jean Paul crouching, Jack
upright. Then the half-breed sprang forward. Jack drew off, and his
fist shot out. There was the crack of bone on bone, and Jean Paul
measured his length on the grass. He twisted a few times, and lay
still.
"Good God!" cried Vassall and Ferrie, falling back. They were not
muscular men.
"He's not dead," said Jack off-hand. "A bucket of water will bring him
to."
Jack walked to the door with none to hinder. Holding up the flap, he
faced them. "You needn't think that I'm going to run," he said. "I
don't mean to do anything that would suit you so well. I'm going to
fight for my good name, and my claims, and my girl, and the whole
government of Athabasca can't stop me!"