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Updated: June 20, 2025
Ygerne slipped from her horse and went straight to the log, perching upon it as she had sat that other day. Drennen, in a moment, followed her. "Ygerne," he whispered. Everything forgotten but the Now, a thrill ran through the girl. She lifted her eyes to his and smiled at him, holding out her arms.
Two things alone he would not talk of. He laughed at her, a ringing, boyish laugh when she mentioned them, one after the other. The first was what lay back in her own life, the thing which had driven her here. "Don't you want me to tell you of that?" she had asked, looking at him swiftly. "No," he had answered. "Not now. When we are married, Ygerne, then if you want to tell me I want to hear."
The money, or at least a great part of it, went to a detective agency in Vancouver, another in Victoria, another even as far east as Quebec. Money went also to New Orleans and brought him no little information of the earlier lives of Ygerne Bellaire and Marc Lemarc, together with the assurance that neither of them had returned to the South.
I shot at a wolf. I think I missed. Didn't I, Mr. Drennen?" Drennen did not answer. The men in the road muttered among themselves, guessed something of the truth, laughed and went back into the house. Drennen walked with Ygerne to her own door. As he lifted his hat she threw open the door and the light streamed across his face. She saw that it was white and that his lips were set tight.
Presently, with a start, he took his pipe from his lips and ran a hand across his forehead. What was he sitting here like a fool for? Either Ygerne had written that note or she had not. If she had written it she had done so either in jest or seriously. He turned back toward the Settlement.
"This is an odd place for a girl like you, Ygerne," he said meditatively. "Is it? And why?" "Because," he answered slowly, "so far as I know, only two kinds of people ever come this way. Some are human hogs come to get their feet into a trough of gold; some are here because there is such a thing as the law outside and it has driven them here."
"Ygerne," cried Drennen harshly, "why do you travel with men like that Sefton and Lemarc?" Her voice was cool, her eyes were cool, as she answered him. "Marc Lemarc is my cousin. Captain Sefton is his friend. Is that reason enough?" "No. What have the three of you in common?" She caught up one knee between her clasped hands, once more seated, and looked up at him curiously.
He saw Kootanie George enter alone; he saw, a little later, Ernestine Dumont flirting with Ramon Garcia, ignoring the big Canadian. Garcia stepped to Joe's side to arrange for the use of the room in which Drennen and Ygerne were; Ernestine, thinking the room empty as it usually was, came on to the arch of the door before she saw its occupants.
It is a question." His face grew a little white as he stared at her. "I think, Ygerne, that I shall tell you good night now. And in the morning, before you are up, I'll be gone. All my life I hope I shall never see you again. And you can know that every day of it I'll be mad to see you." He bent his head to her, turning away, a dull agony in his heart. His hand was upon the knob of the door.
He was a little boy, gone black-berrying, and Ygerne Bellaire went with him. His dugout was a cabin in the Yukon where he had lived a year, or it was a speeding train carrying him away from an old home and into the wilderness. There were times when Marshall Sothern, bending over him, was an enemy, torturing him.
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