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Phillips approved of the Countess Courteau this morning even more thoroughly than he had on the evening previous, and they had not walked far before he realized that as a traveler she was the equal of him or of any man. She was lithe and strong and light of foot; the way she covered ground awoke his sincere admiration.
"Nobody goin' believe Courteau. And McCaskey is dam' t'ief." "If only I could help him. You'll go to him, 'Poleon, won't you? Promise." Silently the Canadian assented. They had reached the door of the hotel before he spoke again; then he said slowly, quietly: "You been playin' 'hearts' wit' HIM, ma soeur? You you love him? Yes?" "Oh yes!" The confession came in a miserable gasp. "Bien!
"Count, here's that fellow I told you about." The man addressed turned, exposing a handsome, smiling blond face ornamented with a well-cared-for mustache. "I beg pardon?" he exclaimed, vacuously. "Meet Phillips. He can give you some dope on your wife." Joe chuckled. Phillips flushed; then he paled; his face hardened. "Ah! To be sure." Count Courteau bowed, but he did not extend his hand.
Whatever it is, that fellow will cut cord-wood for the rest of the winter where the whole of Dawson can see him and say, 'Behold the lover of the Countess Courteau!" "There's some mistake. He isn't a thief." "No?" The husband swayed a few steps closer, his face working disagreeably. "Already it is proved. He is exposed, ruined. Bah! He made of me a laughing-stock. Well, he shall suffer!
She turned her head to say: "Well, Henri, you look better than I thought you would." The Count passed a caressing hand over his swollen cheek and his discolored left eye. "You heard about the fight, eh?" he inquired, thickly. "Yes if you'd call it that." Courteau grimaced, but there was a ring of triumph and of satisfaction in his voice when he cried: "Well, what do you think of that fellow?
The current quickened beneath them, the river- banks closed in, and finally beetling cliffs arose, between which was a cleft that swallowed the stream. Just above the opening was a landing-place where boats lay gunwale to gunwale, and here the Courteau skiffs were grounded. A number of weather-beaten tents were stretched among the trees.
The officer listened to his caller's recital, and even before it was finished he had begun to dress himself in his trail clothes. "Courteau confessed, eh? And the McCaskeys have disappeared taken French leave. Say! That changes the look of things, for a fact. Of course they may have merely gone back to Hunker " "In de middle of snow-storm? Dis tam de night? No.
The lieutenant answered him with some impatience: "I admit it looks fishy, but what is there to do? The colonel likes Pierce, as we all do, but he had no choice." "It's dirty frame-up." "I imagine he believes so. And yet how the deuce did that sack get where it was? I was standing alongside the McCaskeys when Courteau went up to pay his check, and I'm sure they had no part in it."
His brain was fogged and he had difficulty in focusing his gaze upon the eager, upturned face of the girl; nevertheless, he appreciated the significance of this audacious inquiry and there came to him the memory of his recent conversation with the Countess Courteau. "Why do you say that?" he queried, after a moment. "Why do you want me to go?"
A pretty woman in this country has to expect that, as you probably know." The woman smiled and shook hands with both men, exchanging a grip as firm and as strong as theirs. "I am the Countess Courteau," said she. "The which?" Mr. Linton queried, with a start. The Countess laughed frankly. "It is French, but I'm a Dane. I think my husband bought the title they're cheap in his country.
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