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The debutante was a success. The singer had passed the ordeal. She had entered into the promised land of fame and wealth. I looked at the programme, as did hundreds of others; it read simply: 'A Solo by Miss Christina Carlson first appearance. The name was Scandinavian, and the appearance of the girl confirmed that supposition. She evidently belonged to the great race of Nilsson and Lind.
Carlson, anticipating his intention, reached for the weapon and snatched it, laying hold of it by the barrel. Mackenzie's unexpected renewal of the fight surprised Carlson into releasing his strangling hold. He rose to sitting posture, breast to breast with the fighting sheepman, whose great bulk towered above him, free breath in his nostrils, fresh hope in his heart.
"Drinking whisky beside the wagon with Hector Hall. They will not fight. No." "No," he echoed, abstractedly, making a mental picture of Carlson and Hall beside the sheep-wagon, the light of a lantern on their faces, cards in their fists, a jug of whisky in the middle ground within reach from either hand.
"No, I've got my eye full looking after two thousand sheep. That's up to Sullivan, he's responsible for Reid." The sheriff turned a sharp look of suspicion on Mackenzie, but said nothing. He led his horse down to the little stream for water, and came leading it back, a cast of disfavor in his face. "You're a bad bunch up in here," he said, "you and Carlson and Hall.
Her eyes were fixed on the open door at Mackenzie's side, her face was set in the tensity of her mental concentration as she listened. Mackenzie bent all his faculties to hear if any foot approached. There was no sound. "The fishermen of my country can feel the chill of an iceberg through the fog and the night," she said at last. "Swan Carlson is an iceberg to my heart."
He'll never rest till he kills you. I wish you'd let him have the range." "Is it his?" "No, it belongs to us; we've got a lease on it from the government, and pay rent for it every year. Swan Carlson and the Hall boys have bluffed us out of it for the past three summers and run their sheep over here in the winter-time.
The outcome of his attempted kindness to the oppressed woman had not been felicitous. Indeed, he was troubled greatly by the fear that he had killed Swan Carlson, and that grave consequences might rise out of this first adventure that ever fell in his way. Perhaps adventure was not such a thing to be sought as he had imagined, he reflected; hand to his swollen throat.
His great knuckles struck her across the eyes, a cruel, heavy blow that would have felled a man. She staggered back a pace, then sank limply forward on her knees, her hands outreaching on the floor, her hair falling wildly, her posture that of a suppliant at a barbarian conqueror's feet. Mackenzie snatched the heavy platter from the table and brought Carlson a smashing blow across the head.
Betty would make other friends find other interests. Dora Carlson was different; she had not the talent for making many friends, and in losing Eleanor she would lose all she had.
It was not easy for one who had so many demands upon her time to get away. Anyhow it was a great pity she did not come to-day, thought Jan, when there were so many of her old acquaintances at the pier. There stood both Senator Carl Carlson and August Där Nol. Björn Hindrickson's son-in-law was also on hand, and even Agrippa Prästberg had turned out.
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