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Left alone, she dreaded going into breakfast, expecting a hurt silence, or passionate protests, perhaps tears. And she tried to find it in her heart to blame Lounsbury for not accompanying her.
It was no other than Rutheford, the man who later, in the cavern darkness, had struck his father down. His deductions followed with deadly and remorseless certainty. He knew now why Harold Lounsbury had come into Clearwater.
Yet just beyond, perhaps a mile from the opposite bank, lay camp and rest, a comfortable cabin, warmth and food. She hoped they would hurry and make the crossing. But Bill halted at the water's edge, and she rode up beside him. He seemed to be studying the currents. The pack train caught up, and Lounsbury's horse nudged at the flank of her own animal. "Well?" Lounsbury questioned.
With cool enterprise, Brannon was hastening toward recovery. There was other mending that was less rapid: In the stockade, where one nursed an arrow, another a bullet, wound; in the garrison hospital, where Kippis and a comrade stumped about on swathed feet; and on the Oliver gallery, where Lounsbury lay, his face not the usual fulness, and a trifle white.
Their puny human power had failed. Where else could they look for succour? Would Lounsbury or the troopers come in time? Then, tearfully, prayerfully, in this utmost need, she raised her eyes to the sky. "It's not for me," she faltered; "it's for Marylyn." That upward glance was not in vain. In front of her, lifting their plume-like tops against the heavens, she saw the clump of burial trees.
They opened a public competition, and, after considerable delay, during which the commission was changed by death and by absence, indeed four successive governors, Hubbard, Waller, Harrison, and Lounsbury have served on it, the work was awarded to Karl Gerhardt, a young sculptor who began his career in this city.
Old Michael was not in it, only his citizen helpers. Fearing their tittle-tattle, Lounsbury curbed his impatience to ask about the shack. Landed, he made for the "Bach" quarters on the Line. Fraser was not up. To his "Come in," Lounsbury entered. They shook hands without a word, and the storekeeper sat down on the edge of the bed.
David Bond, therefore, was left in ignorance, and had no means of connecting the evil companion of his journey north with the fortunes of the Lancasters. So, as they left Lounsbury behind, he even found some censure in his heart for the storekeeper. "You were quite right," he said, flicking Shadrach gently. "That young man should pay no visit to your daughters while you are absent.
"'Babe," he said quietly, "the train goes back Chicago-way in the morning." The other blinked and gulped. "W'y, w'y " he began. "You take it," continued Lounsbury. "Your family's getting darned unpopular here." The "Babe's" diverging orbs popped from his face and again played from side to side. "Y-e-e-s," drawled Lounsbury. He ripped open the other's vest.
"And what's the use of going farther. They haven't a chance on earth." They did, however, push on a short distance down the river. Lounsbury was of the opinion it was very far indeed. In reality it was not two hundred yards in all. And they halted once more to stare with frightened eyes at the stream. "It ain't the first this river's taken," Vosper told him.
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