"Where is the lass? Fetch her in, John." Murchison's eyes twinkled as he stepped closer. "He thinks he's lost her," he whispered. "But tell me, John, d'ye think the lass cares for this damned Wentworth?"
"Who can say?" grinned McNabb. "'Twill not be long now till we can see for ourselves," and stepping to the door he called Jean, who was trying to make friends with a group of Indian children.
"She'll have my room," said Murchison, as he followed McNabb to the door. "An' no bunk, either, but a brass bed that I bought in Winnipeg out of respect for my old bones an' the weakening flesh that covers 'em. You an' me will pitch a tent, an' 'twill be the first time in many years, John, we've slept under canvas together."
The next moment he was welcoming the girl with a deference he would have scarce accorded to royalty.
XXIII
Supper over, McNabb left Jean to be entertained by Murchison, and strolled down to the landing to join Hedin. "Well, how's everything comin'?" he asked, as he seated himself beside the clerk upon a damaged York boat.
"I wired you that the deal was closed, and the pulp-wood is safe. But there have been complications that you could never suspect."
"So?"
"Yes. In the first, you were dead right about Wentworth—about not trusting him. And you knew who he expected to let in on the deal?"
"Why, Orcutt, of course," replied McNabb. "I know all about that.
That's why I told ye to hold off till the last minute about closing."