"The presuming ox had been drinking," she said. "He gave me,—well, let's call it an argument; but I had the last word. He'll not come bothering around here again."
After a smile and nod of approval, Seymour returned to their unfinished business. "You were telling me what Bart had in view up the creeks. Something 'richer than gold'—wasn't that the way you put it?"
"His very words," the widow went on in the glow of loving reminiscence. "Naturally, I was curious, for I thought the gold was all there was worth while up here. I asked him what he meant." With that, her lips were stilled and a dreamy look came into her eyes.
The sergeant did not believe that she had paused with aggravating intent, or even from any sense of the dramatic. Doubtless, her thoughts were with the departed rogue. But that was no place at all for her to stop; he just couldn't wait longer to learn what in Gold was richer than gold.
"Yes—yes!" he prodded, glancing at his watch to suggest a time reason for his hurry.
"Why, Bart just took me into his arms in a gentle, big-bear way he had—at times—and said—I'll never forget; it made me so happy."
Again she was living over what evidently had been the big moment of her recent life; but that fact did not ease in the least Seymour's present impatience.
"Well, what did he say?"
"Bart said—'All you'll care to know, Marge old dear, is that I'm going to put something over in the name of the law and within it. I'm going to rectify a wrong. In the name of the Royal Mounted, I'm going to loot some looters.' That's what Bart said, and you can understand, Mr. Sergeant, how happy it made me."
For another brief moment, Margaret Caswell succeeded in forgetting her recent bereavement.