"You can count on me," said Holcomb, as he straightened to his feet.
Blakeman rested his gun in the hollow of his arm.
"We must be going," he said, "or I shall be late for my table. Have you a short cut home in your memory?"
"Come on," said Holcomb, and the two disappeared in the thick timber.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The next morning Thayor handed Alice a telegram. It was from Jack
Randall, accepting Sam's invitation to visit him.
"I am so glad he's coming!" he exclaimed, rubbing his hands in delight. "Jack is a host in himself. Ah, that was a good idea of mine, dear—splendid idea! I want Holcomb to dine with us, of course, while Randall is here over Sunday; it's a pity he can't stay longer." Thayor had not said a word to her about his "idea" until he had shown her Randall's acceptance.
Alice said nothing, except to remark that she would be glad to see Mr. Randall again—he was always so amusing; she did not relish the idea of Holcomb sharing their table during his visit. She wondered whether Thayor was paying her back for the many she had given without consulting him.
"Who do you think is coming?" exclaimed Margaret, who had run over to Holcomb's cabin to tell him the news that afternoon; "nice Jack Randall!" she cried before he could even begin to think.
Holcomb opened his eyes in surprise.