Conacher laughed. “Little fire-eater!” he said, hugging her close.
“We must be serious now,” she said pushing him away.
“I’ll have to turn the man loose then,” said Conacher. “And let him find his way to his friends on foot.”
“That will be best,” said Loseis. “They are waiting about four miles from here. It will give us time to get out of the way.”
“The horses are so tired,” exclaimed Conacher. “And it must be eighteen miles to the fur-camp. They will die under us before we get there.”
“But we are not going there,” said Loseis. “If I had meant that, I would have ridden right through.”
“Where else can we go?” said Conacher, opening his eyes.
“Gault and his men would be up with us almost as soon as we broke camp in the morning. The Slavis would run away. How could we protect ourselves there in the open? Neither you nor I would ever be seen alive again. How easy for Gault to explain that there had been an accident. There would be no witnesses but his men.”
“What do you propose then?” said Conacher gravely.
“I have been thinking about it all these hours. We will go back to Blackburn’s Post. There we will be on our own ground. There are strong buildings to protect us, and plenty of grub and ammunition. It would be more difficult for Gault to make out that there had been an accident there.”