With this, he brought the steady airship about and began to follow the rails, which were now plain enough below. For another quarter of an hour, the monoplane made its way steadily to the south and then a sudden blur broke the landscape in the distance.
“There she is,” remarked Norman, almost casually. “Don’t forget your packages and bundles.”
At nine o’clock Colonel Howell and Norman were eating breakfast at the Royal George Hotel. At half past ten they were leaving the big new Provincial Capitol Building. The colonel had filed his claims and had his papers safely in his pocket. A little later, entering the busy hotel office once more, Norman hastily caught his patron’s sleeve. Seated in front of the hotel fireplace, as if gratefully drinking in its warmth, was the worn and emaciated Chandler. By his side was Fosseneuve the half-breed, already far gone in intoxication.
Colonel Howell stepped forward, as if about to speak to the defeated man. Then he paused.
“Can’t do any good,” he exclaimed in an undertone to Norman. “We got there first. And he might have beaten us at that if he hadn’t stopped here in the hotel too long. We’ll take the afternoon train down to Calgary for a day’s visit. Then, when you’re ready, we’ll go back to the boys.”