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Updated: June 6, 2025
But even so there was more than reluctance. There was desperate distaste. The romantic vision of John Kars, the wealthiest mine owner in Leaping Horse, the perfect adventurer of the northern trail, rose before her eyes, and made her hesitate. In the end, however, she thrust it aside and rose from her chair, and held out her hand.
Guess the stuff you speak of is for one of the trading posts?" "Can't say. It's billed to a guy named Murray McTavish at Blackrock Flat. There's a thousand rifles an' nigh two million rounds of cartridges. Guess he must be carryin' on a war of his own with them Injuns. Know the name?" Kars appeared to think profoundly. "Seems to me I know the name. Can't just place it for Say I've got it.
"It was a bunch of neches I'd have thought your outfit could have eaten. A poor lot sure." He finished up with a deliberate laugh, and his intention was obvious. Kars understood, and did not display the least resentment. "I'm glad," he said seriously. "Real glad." Then he added: "I didn't guess you'd have a heap of trouble." He turned to the women.
Kars' monosyllable was full of intense satisfaction. "They'll go hungry for fighting fodder," said Bill. Nor was there any less satisfaction in his comment. Kars stood on the embankment watching the receding form of the aged chief, Thunder-Cloud, taking his departure with his escort.
"I've set a boy to trail him to the edge of the woods," he said. Then he returned to his seat. Bill nodded. "Well?" Kars laughed. "An elegant outfit," he said with appreciation. "I guess he's more scared of us than the Bell River devils. We're not to get the bunch of neches I guessed." "No. He's a crook and a bad one. When do we pull out?" Kars looked up. His eyes were steady and keen.
Bill was here a while back. He reckoned he'd got five then." Abe laughed. It was not a mirthful laugh. He rarely gave way to mirth. Purpose had too profound a hold on him. "Figger up nine by eight nights like this and you ain't got much of a crowd out of eighty." Kars' eyes came swiftly to the lean face shadowed under the night. "No."
It's just dead hardship half the time. Yes it's a sort of craziness. Say, how does it feel to be crazy that way?" "Feel? That's some proposition." Kars' face lit with amusement as he pondered the question. "Say, ever skip out of school at the Mission, and make a camp in the woods?" The girl shook her head.
At this conjuncture he thought he saw a road to success in the relief of Kars, which had been persistently besieged by the Russians. Elated at the prospect of taking part in a great military feat, he hurried to Constantinople, obtained an interview with the British Ambassador, Lord Stratford, and submitted a plan for approval.
Then, with a raging impatience, he waited while the deposit he had collected from the riffles of the sluice-box was examined under the lamplight. At last Bill raised his eyes, and Kars read there all he wanted to know. "It's mostly color. There's biggish stuff amongst it." "That's how I figgered." Kars' tone was full of contentment. "Well?"
Kars watched him go not without some misgivings, and his fears were tritely expressed to Bill Brudenell, who joined him a few minutes later. "There's only one thing to unfix the things I've stuck together," he said. "It's the woman." And Bill's agreement added to his fears of the moment. "Sure. But you haven't figgered on Pap." "Pap?" Bill nodded. "There's fourteen days.
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