A wave of color crossed Philip's open face. "See here," he said, "leave my wife out."
"As you like." Stratton shrugged his shoulders. "But if you had set up that establishment in town it would have been the best thing for her, and—for Forrest."
"For Forrest?"
"Yes. When two are young, you know, and have practically no other companionship—"
"Oh, you don't know her," Kingsley interrupted lightly; "you don't know Forrest."
"I know that she is a very bright and pretty woman; one of the most interesting I ever met. The kind any man would look at twice. And Forrest is a well set up fellow; the sort all women like. Then, too, music is her passion, and you know what he can do with his violin; he makes it a voice; it speaks for him."
"Paul is a good fellow," answered Philip, growing annoyed; "one in a hundred; a man you can trust. I've known him all my life."
"Possibly," said Stratton, "possibly, but when you have a man to deal with, it is safer to appraise him as such and not as a saint. But, Captain, leaving Mrs. Kingsley out, there is some one I could put in charge of it—there at the ruin. He is familiar with the network of by-ways south and east to the Cascades; under pressure he can travel on his own trail. He could carry the stuff from the top of Duwamish Head by horse, directly to that lodge of mine up the Nisqually. The country there is so rough, so full of natural hiding-places, above all it is so far from the border, it could be cached indefinitely, until I was able to dispose of it in lots at Portland. Or, I had rather convey it in large amounts over the Pass to the Palouse wilderness, and board an east-bound train on the Columbia, somewhere, with a view to making a hunting trip to the Yellowstone. It could be easily forwarded in the camp outfit, and so on to Chicago—perhaps New York."
"You seem to have it pretty well planned," said Kingsley dryly.
Stratton met his look steadily. "I have," he answered.