Gordon picked out an envelope and opened it. “Here’s a note from Miss Waynefleet. She desires you to ride across at once.”
With a troubled face Nasmyth stood still in the rain another minute.
“I’ll take the pack-horse and start now,” he said after a brief silence. “When I have seen Miss Waynefleet, I’ll go right on to Victoria.” He turned and gazed at the river. “If one could get into the heading by any means, I’d fire every stick of giant-powder in it first. Unfortunately, the thing is out of the question.”
In a few moments he was scrambling up the gully, and Gordon, who went into the shanty and lighted his pipe, sat gazing at the letters very thoughtfully. They 290 had no money to spare for any legal expenses. Indeed, he was far from sure they had enough to supply them with powder and provisions until their task was accomplished. During the long grim fight in the cañon they had borne almost all that could be expected of flesh and blood, and it was unthinkable that the city man, who sat snug in his office and plotted, should lay grasping hands upon the profit. Still, that seemed possible now that somebody had betrayed them.
Meantime, Nasmyth had swung himself into the pack-saddle, and, in the rain, was scrambling up the rocky slopes of the divide. He had not changed his clothing, and it would have availed him little if he had, since there was a long day’s ride before him. The trail was a little easier than it had been, for each man who led the pack-horse along it had hewn through some obstacle, but it was still sufficiently difficult, and every here and there a frothing torrent swept across it. There were slopes of wet rock to be scrambled over, several leagues of dripping forest thick with undergrowth that clung about the narrow trail to be floundered through, and all the time the great splashes from the boughs or torrential rain beat upon him. In places he led the pack-horse, in places he rode, and dusk was closing in when he saw a blink of light across Waynefleet’s clearing. In another few minutes he had led the jaded horse into the stable, and then, splashed with mire, and with the water running from his clothes, had limped to the homestead door.
Nasmyth opened the door and saw Laura Waynefleet sitting by the stove. She started as he came in.
“I have been expecting you,” she said. She gave him her hand and her eyes met his with a look of anxiety. She noticed his appearance of weariness and the condition of his clothing. “I can get you something dry to put on,” she added.
“No,” said Nasmyth, “you must not trouble. I 291 would be quite as wet again, soon after I leave here. If I can borrow a horse, I must push on to the railroad in an hour.”
“To-night?” asked Laura. “After riding in from the cañon, it’s out of the question. Besides, you could never get through the Willow Ford. Listen to the rain.”
Nasmyth sank wearily into the nearest chair, and heard the deluge lash the shingled roof.