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Updated: June 6, 2025
The girl's appeal was irresistible. Kars caught her in his arms, and his passionate kisses rained on her upturned face. All the ardor of his strong soul gazed down into her half-closed eyes in those moments of rapture. "You couldn't help it? No more could I," he cried, yielding all restraint before the passion of that moment. "I had to get around. I had to see the day from its beginning.
The Congress have so far approved the Treaty of San Stefano that they have sanctioned the retention by Russia of Kars and Batoum. Now the question arises the Congress having come to that determination was it a wise step on the part of the Plenipotentiaries of Her Majesty to agree to that decision? That is a question which may legitimately be asked.
"But I guess I need to collect things. My papers. Kit. I've a right that way. You can't deny it," Murray protested swiftly. "You got no rights in this layout." It was Kars who replied. "You'll pass right on down the river for Leaping Horse. And you aren't stopping on the way to pay calls. Guess the p'lice in Leaping Horse will allow you your rights.
"Y'see," he went on, after a while, "we're white folks." "That's how I've always heard. So was Allan Mowbray." Kars picked up a hot coal from the fire, rolled it in the palm of his hand, and dropped it on the bowl of his pipe. Once the pipe was lit he shook it off again. "Allan got around here many times," he said reflectively. "He wasn't murdered on his first visit nor his second.
"There's no accounting the way men feel for each other," she said at last. "Maybe Murray guesses John Kars is butting into our trade. Maybe he's anxious to keep the country to ourselves. You see, these folks aren't traders, and we are." The girl became indignant at once. "But he's no right to feel that way," she cried. "The country's free. It's big enough for us all.
Kars refused to leave his post. For all his faith in the defence he trusted the vigilance of no one. A meal of sorts was sent down to him from the cook-house, and he shared it with the stalwart ruffian, Abe, and, for the most part, they quenched their thirst with the steaming beverage in silence. The thought of each man was busy.
The man's curiosity was evident, but he disguised it with a broad smile. Kars' steady eyes regarded him thoughtfully. Then he, too, smiled. "I don't reckon the Yukon's worrying to scrap. But folks inside I mean right inside beyond Leaping Horse where the p'lice are need arms. There's a lot of low type Indians running loose. They aren't to be despised, except for their manners.
Maybe they'll need all the help we can hand them. I've always figgered on this play. Best act my way." There was something like a flicker of the eyelid as Kars acquiesced with a nod. Except for that his rugged face was deadly serious. He filled his pipe with a leisureliness which seemed incompatible with the conditions of the moment. Bill seemed to be engrossed in the study of the stove.
The half-breed was badly wounded. But the Indian had neither pity nor scruple. He turned him over where he lay groaning across his counter. He searched him and relieved him of a pair of loaded revolvers. Then, standing over him, he waited for his chief. Nor had he to wait long. Kars completed his work in silence. For the time words were unnecessary.
For a whole week Ailsa Mowbray was given no further opportunity of dwelling upon the possibilities of the situation between Jessie and Murray McTavish. John Kars pervaded the Mission with a personality too buoyant to allow of lurking shadows.
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