“Why, of course not,” Clay answered. “Only we have the moving-on spirit to-day. We’ll drop down to Revelstoke and get a sight of the Canadian Pacific right-of-way before night, or, at least, before morning. That will connect us with civilization, at least,” he added, with a grin.
“I’m afraid the motion of the boat will hurt my leg,” Gran urged, not looking Clay in the eyes. “I want to get well as rapidly as possible, you know. Can’t you wait a few days—wait here?”
“I’ll talk with the boys,” Clay promised and went out. When he told them of the request Gran had made, their eyes stuck out “good and plenty,” as he afterwards expressed it. It was a puzzle to all of them.
“But why should he want to stay here?” Case asked, in amazement. “Why shouldn’t he want to get away from a valley which must have unpleasant recollections for him? He would have died in that hut if we hadn’t happened along! And the man we’ve been talking about brought him to it all by taking him away from us. It is the strangest thing I ever heard.”
“He went away with the man willingly,” Clay explained, “at least we saw him make no attempt to get away when we were close at hand, and might have helped him. Now, how do we know that he is not waiting in this valley to meet this man again? This Richard Miller, who is wanted in Chicago for the crime of murder. I suppose,” he added, thoughtfully, “that there can be no doubt about the description? The man described in the newspaper article is the man we saw on the train, the man who talked to Gran in the cedar canyon, the man who was rowing when Gran passed down stream and flung the note in the water?”
“Not a doubt of it,” Case asserted. “That is the man—Richard Miller, the man wanted in Chicago to answer to the crime of murder.”
“But, look here,” said Alex always ready to defend Gran, “stop and think a minute! If Gran went with this man willingly, why didn’t he stop long enough to tell us he was going? Why didn’t he tell the man to row up to the Rambler and let him explain? Why was it necessary for him to put what he had to say to us on paper, and then stop his writing in the middle of a sentence. I don’t believe he left us willingly.”
“One reason why the man—this Richard Miller—did not let him come up to the Rambler was that he had our rowboat—the boat which had been cut loose from her chain the night before. Say,” he continued, with a blush and a laugh, “I’m getting this mixed. It was the anchor that he cut away, and not the boat! At least, I think he did! He wouldn’t want to come to close quarters with us after doing that, would he?
“Well, he might as well have cut the boat loose,” Clay said, “for he stole it after it had drifted away. We saw him in it. That’s proof!”
“Well, what are we going to do about it?” asked Case, turning to Clay.