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Updated: July 2, 2025
Then Alan heard Captain Rifle close the door behind them, and from Marston's lips came a startled whisper: "Good God!" Rossland was not covered. He was undressed and flat on his back. His arms were stretched out, his head thrown back, his mouth agape. And the white sheet under him was red with blood. It had trickled over the edges and to the floor. His eyes were loosely closed.
In the summer of 1899 he worked underground in the Hidden Treasure Mine, Placer county, California. In 1900 he left college again, going to the gold and copper mines of Rossland, British Columbia. From August, 1900, to May, 1901, he worked in four different mines. It was with considerable feeling of pride that he always added, "I got to be machine man before I quit."
"He is between here and Tanana," she said with a little gesture of her head. "Rossland told you that?" "Yes. And there are others with him, so many that he was amused when I told him you would not let them take me away." "Then you were not afraid that I I might let them have you?" "I have always been sure of what you would do since I opened that second letter at Ellen McCormick's, Alan!"
He was five minutes late in his appointment with the captain. Captain Rifle was seated at his desk when Alan entered his cabin. He nodded toward a chair. "We'll reach Cordova inside of an hour," he said. "Doctor Marston says Rossland will live, but of course we can not hold the Nome in port until he is able to talk. He was struck through the window. I will make oath to that.
I deserve nothing better at your hands." "But it isn't true," he protested. "The letter was to Rossland." There was no responsive gladness in her eyes. "Better that it were true, and all that is true were false," she said in a quiet, hopeless voice.
He cared nothing about the relationship between Mary Standish and Rossland except as it involved himself, and the situation had become a trifle too delicate to please him. He could see no sport in an adventure of the kind it suggested, and the possibility that he had been misjudged by both Rossland and Mary Standish sent a flush of anger into his cheeks.
I would laugh at Rossland if it were not for the other." The other! Why the deuce was she so provokingly ambiguous? And she had no intention of explaining. She simply waited for him to decide. "What other?" he demanded. "I can not tell you. I don't want you to hate me. And you would hate me if I told you the truth." "Then you confess you are lying," he suggested brutally.
I'd have turned traitor myself aboard the Nome if she had shown an inclination." He proffered a cigar, a big, fat cigar with a gold band. It was inspiration again that made Alan accept it and light it. His blood was racing. But Rossland saw nothing of that. He observed only the nod, the cool smile on Alan's lips, the apparent nonchalance with which he was meeting the situation.
"I'm not at all curious in the matter," some persistent voice kept telling him, "and I haven't any interest in knowing what irrational whim drove her to my cabin." But he smoked viciously and smiled grimly as the voice kept at him. He would have liked to obliterate Rossland from his mind.
That's not our business. If she dies, I imagine you will have an opportunity to get your range back pretty cheap." Rossland held a paper out to Alan. "Here's partial payment two hundred and fifty thousand. I have the papers here, on the desk, ready to sign. As soon as you give possession, I'll return to Tanana with you and make the remaining payment." Alan took the check.
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