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Updated: May 2, 2025
It was the first time she had called him David, and the foolish joy at the little incident drove him to take her again to his arms. But with a steady purpose he refused to tell her. He had his reason and to give the reason would thwart his purpose. He meant to go to Lebarge and attend to the routine work there in connection with a new claim.
Vancouver knew him, coming and going where a man might search such quarry as his, in gambling halls, high and low, in cafes, at hotels. For he had had a hint that perhaps Ygerne and the men with her had gone on to Vancouver. In January he drew heavily against his account in the bank of Lebarge.
Even when they were sure these men who know as most men do not the value of caution when they are allowed to take time for caution, postponed their final verdict. But at last the thing was done and McCall, taking his train for the East, left Lebarge with a conscious glow of satisfaction over the last work done as superintendent of the Western Division.
Ten minutes after leaving Drennen he had sent a man on horseback scurrying down the hundred miles of trail to Lebarge. The man carried a letter to the General Manager. The letter ran in part: ". . . I don't know whether the man is crazy or not. Having seen his specimens I'm rather inclined to think he's not. But he's fool enough to have shown the stuff before filing on his claim.
He had bought a horse in Lebarge, the finest animal to be had in the week's search. He had supplied himself with new clothes, feeling in himself, reborn, the desire for the old garb of a gentleman. He had telegraphed two hundred miles for a great box of chocolates for Ygerne; he had sent a message twice that distance for his first bejewelled present for her.
The doctor had gotten back to Lebarge before Marshall Sothern sent for Ygerne. She came without delay. "This man is very sick," he told her, bending a searching look at her from under brows shaggy in thought. "He talks of you very much. Does he love you or does he hate you?" She looked at him coolly, her gaze defying him to pry into matters which did not concern him.
He nipped a check book from his pocket and unscrewed the cap of a pen. "I'll take a chance," he said sharply. "Right now I'll write you a check for a thousand dollars. That's just for a ninety days' option. We'll clean out of this, go down to Lebarge and file your title. Then we'll see what you've got. Are you on?" The temptation of the pen against the blue slip of paper was lost to Drennen.
Both legs frozen and amputated at the Five Fingers. And Jack Dalton? Blown up on the "Sea Lion" with all hands. And Bettles? Wrecked on the "Carthagina," in Seymour Narrows, twenty survivors out of three hundred. And Swiftwater Bill? Gone through the rotten ice of Lake LeBarge with six female members of the opera troupe he was convoying. Governor Walsh?
Pigeonhole it until after this deal is made or rejected." McCall, his hesitation brief, swung about upon Drennen. "Where is this mine of yours?" he demanded curtly. "How long will it take us to get to it?" "It's less than forty miles from Lebarge," returned Drennen. "And we can get there in five hours, if we keep on moving." "You have filed your title, of course?" "Yes." "Come ahead then."
"Were they in MacLeod's when you left?" "Why do you ask?" countered Drennen sharply. "The law wants them," replied the lieutenant. Drennen laughed. "So do I!" he cried as he spurred his horse out of the trail, turning eastward now, heading at random for Fanning instead of Lebarge. As he forded the Little MacLeod he was cursing Max. "Damn him," he muttered. "Are there not enough cheap law breakers?
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