"That's right," said Mason. "We've not forgotten the road-agent at Golden, old man. But you've got to stick by 'Spirit-of-Iron' in this thing; and he'd be the first to jump on any monkey business like tar and feathers."
"Right, youngster," Kellett agreed. "The chief helped make this outfit and his ideas go. Best way we can help is by doing our little job o' work and following in father's footsteps. Eh?"
"You bet." The answer was unanimous. "Nose to croup, this outfit's behind Papa!"—a sentiment but mildly expressing all the men felt in the matter.
There was one other whose views, though stronger than most, rather coincided with the men's. That was Mrs. MacFarlane. In common with every woman in Broncho, she was ready to defend the rip-snorting Superintendent with teeth and claws. Mrs. MacFarlane was prepared to go further than any.
Her admiration for Hector had steadily increased and by this time—in the fall—she did not in the least care who knew it. In fact, she rather enjoyed showing it, especially to MacFarlane, who had gradually arrived at a pitch of fierce but smouldering jealousy. He reminded her of a slumbering furnace and she loved to prod the terrific heat to life. In his outbursts, he was amusing. The possibility that the outbursts might badly scorch the prodder did not seem to occur to her. So she went gaily on.
Meanwhile, she began to think that she had melted the heart of ice, which no woman was ever known to have affected before. She had a physical allurement few men could resist; she knew it very well. She believed that it had made itself felt on the mighty demigod whom admirers called 'Spirit-of-Iron.' Once she had told him, 'Pretty women and handsome men are made for one another.' She was a pretty woman; he a very handsome man. She thought the fact had sunk in by this time—that she could read it in his voice and eyes. Soon, now, she would find out if she were right.
And MacFarlane?—Where did he come in?
But he was a poor, uninteresting creature, anyway. Too bad she'd married him! He couldn't bring the blood to a woman's cheeks, her heart to her mouth. Whereas ...
Mrs. MacFarlane had sympathy for Guinevere.
III