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With you an' Rose McLean an' Cole Sanborn an' I all followin' the fellow's trail, he can't double an' twist enough to make a getaway. We'll ride him down sure." "Maybe we will and maybe we won't," the oil broker replied. "I'd give odds that he goes scot free." "Then you'd lose," Kirby answered, smiling easily. Miss Phyllis Harriman had breakfasted earlier than usual.
A desert storm perhaps, or some accident. McLean would poke about but for all McLean knew he might be on his way back to camp that very moment. And sometimes he went by sailing canoe, and a rented horse, and sometimes by the accredited steamer and a camel, and sometimes by tram or train to the nearest station.
On one side there was an old Captain McLean, and Major McDill, a couple whom the mischievous wits of the village designated as Captain McLean and Captain McFat; and, in truth, they were a perfect antithesis, a living exemplification of flesh and spirit.
Miss Forrest wants to speak with you." "Mac, there's no way out of it," growled Hatton between his set teeth; "you've got to go." "Be at the house in ten minutes, then. I'll join you there," said McLean, glancing over his shoulders at his comrade as he started across the springy turf to obey the summons. "What is it, Miss Forrest?" he inquired. "Good-morning Mrs. Gordon Mrs.
Finlayson's comfort and good cheer that that gentleman's fine sense of honour prompted him to inform her incidentally of the existence of Miss Jennie McLean, who was to "come out to him as soon as he was placed." He was surprised, but entirely delighted, to discover that this announcement made no difference whatever in Miss Belle's attentions.
And as another and another crashed from among them blind and solemn and happy with his guardian senior close after, the ones who were left seemed to drop into deeper quiet. And now there were only two black hats in the throng; the girl looking down saw John McLean standing stiffly, his gray eyes fixed, his face pale and set; at that moment the two seniors found their men together. It was all over.
Then they clapped him on the back and he left them. He thought of his enemy and his hate, beating his rage like a failing horse, and treading the courage of his drink. Across a space he saw Wiggin, walking with McLean and Scipio. They were watching the town to see that his friends made no foul play. "We're giving you a clear field," said Wiggin. "This race will not be pulled," said McLean.
The gang were shouting themselves hoarse for the Limberlost guard. Freckles did not feel that he deserved it. He would have given much to be able to go to the men and explain, but to McLean only could he tell his story. At the sight of Freckles the men threw up their hats and cheered.
One after another the travellers were led to their own mansions, and went in gladly; and from within, through the open doorways, came sweet voices of welcome, and low laughter, and song. At last there was no one left with the Guide but the two old friends, Doctor McLean and John Weightman.
At Calgary they were fortunate in procuring as leader a gentleman of large experience in the North, W. J. McLean, Esq., a retired Chief-factor of the Hudson's Bay Company, who pointed out the difficulties of such a route, and recommended, instead, a possible one via Great Slave Lake and the Mackenzie River to Fort Simpson, and thence up the Liard River to the height of land at or near Francis Lake, and so down the Pelly River and on to Dawson.
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