“Right!” said Conacher. “You have a head on you! Whatever happens we will never be parted again.”
“Never!” she said going to his arms.
“One of us will not be left!”
“I swear it!” she said kissing him.
Conacher felt the strength of ten men coursing through his veins. “Come on!” he said briskly. “How do you propose to get by the men waiting in the trail?”
“We will take a canoe at the Slavi village. Mary-Lou is waiting there. She will stick to us. She is not brave, but her heart is true.”
“Good!” said Conacher. “Now for this red-skinned blackguard. How about taking him with us to the Post? Gault would then ride after the fur at daybreak and we’d gain a day.”
“What good would that do us?” said Loseis. “He would be back at the Post by night. And in the meantime the Slavis would be scattered. Tatateecha is our best hope of getting help from the outside.”
“All right,” said Conacher. “But it goes against the grain to turn the scoundrel loose.”
Taking out his knife, he proceeded to cut the cringing Indian’s bonds. “You filthy wretch!” he cried; “you mangy, verminous coyote! If you got your deserts I would be sticking this knife between your ribs! Go back to your master and tell him . . .”