"I don't know who
she is, but I do know that she hasn't a right there or she
wouldn't sneak in like a thief. I'm going to be blunt--damned
blunt. I think she's one of the other men's wives. There are half
a dozen in camp."
"Haven't you ever looked--to see if you could recognize her?"
"Haven't had the chance," said MacDougall. "She's been wrapped up
both times, and as it was none of my business I didn't lay in
wait. But now--it's up to you!"
Philip rose slowly. He felt cold. He put on his coat and cap, and
buckled on his revolver. His face was deadly white when he turned
to MacDougall.
"She is over there to-night?"
"Sneaked in not half an hour ago, I saw her come out of the edge
of the spruce."
"From the trail that leads out over the plain?"
"Yes."
Philip walked to the door.
"I'm going over to call on Thorpe," he said, quietly. "I may not
be back for some time, Sandy."
In the deep shadows outside he stood gazing at the light in
Thorpe's cabin. Then he walked slowly toward the spruce. He did
not go to the door, but leaned with his back against the building,
near one of the windows. The first shuddering sickness had gone
from him. His temples throbbed. At the sound of a voice inside
which was Thorpe's the chill in his blood turned to fire.
Pages:
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275