"You know what I mean. It's a way of putting it."
Cranston considered a moment. "Take Davy," he said. "The boy has
pluck. He would be wild to go."
Jack was more moved than he cared to show. "Damn decent of you,
Cranston," he growled. "I won't do it," he added aloud. "It's too
much of a responsibility. Jean Paul is clever enough to see that he
could always get at me through the boy."
"What's the alternative then?" asked Cranston.
"I'm going it alone," said Jack doggedly.
Cranston struck the counter with his fist. "No, by Gad!" he cried.
"I'm the boss around here. You know as well as I that it's foolhardy
for a man to ride alone at any time--the police don't do it--let alone
into a village of redskins in an ugly mood. That's tempting them to
murder you. And if they did, how could we convict them?"
Jack's face hardened. "They wouldn't murder me," he said, "because I'm
not afraid of them."
"That's all right. It's too big a chance."
"You'd think nothing of taking it yourself."
"Never you mind that. I'm the boss here, and I forbid it!"
"You're not my boss," muttered Jack.
"Just the same, I can prevent you, my lad," said Cranston grimly.
"You'll get no outfit from me for such a purpose."
Jack shrugged, and appeared to let the matter go. Cranston might have
taken warning from his tight lips, but the trader thought, as he said,
that he commanded the situation.
"We'll talk to Sir Bryson in the morning," Cranston went on.
"Pshaw! Sir Bryson!" muttered Jack.
"I'll get him to send Vassall down to the Crossing in a canoe with a
letter to the police. I'll send my boy Angus and an Indian along. The
steamboat will be up in a few days, and they can bring back the police
on her. If she leaves the Crossing before they get there, the captain
will turn back for the policemen. With luck they'll all be back in a
week."
"A week!" thought Jack. "What would I be doing all that time? Biting
my thumbs?"
By morning Jack had made his plan. He was only prevented from putting
it into instant execution by his great desire to see Mary, though he
would not acknowledge to himself that that was the reason he hung about
the fort all morning. He waited until after the middle of the day,
thinking that Cranston would surely ask him home to dinner, but the
invitation was not forthcoming. Jack did not know it, but the trader
for many years past had been obliged to give up dispensing hospitality
at his own board. Mrs. Cranston seized on such occasions to assert her
most savage and perverse self.
Meanwhile Jack showed himself assiduously in front of the trader's
windows. The ladies of Sir Bryson's party did not appear all morning
out of the warehouse where they were quartered, so Jack was at least
spared Linda's surveillance. His pertinacity was in vain; Mary never
once showed herself. By afternoon he had worked himself up to a
towering, aggrieved anger. "She might at least have a word of welcome
for a white man," he thought bitterly, choosing to forget her side of
the case, that she had made plain to him. At last he gave up in a
passion, and strode away from the fort.
Taking care that he was not observed by Cranston, Jack headed for the
Indian village, which lay on the river-flat, a half mile west of the
fort. Reaching it, he sought out the head man, and by degrees brought
the talk around to the subject of horses. Presently a deal was in
progress, and in an hour Jack found himself the owner of two fairish
ponies, with a saddle for one and a pack-saddle for the other. Some of
the Indians had been trading with Cranston, and by going from tepee to
tepee and offering a premium on the company's prices, Jack was able to
collect the grub he required, together with blankets and a Winchester
and ammunition. He paid for all this with an order on Cranston, and
with the order he sent back a note:
DEAR CRANSTON: I hope you won't lay this up against me. I feel as if
you are the only friend I have, and I don't want to make you sore, but
I've got to go. If I had to hang around the fort doing nothing for a
week I'd go clean off my nut. You needn't bother your head about me.
I know exactly what I'm going to do, and I'm not going to get murdered
either. I'll bring you back your horses in a few days, also Garrod and
Jean Paul, unless I have to bury them.
Tell Sir Bryson and his people.
Remember me to Mary.