With the sergeant engaged in his search for one of the Force as equally under cover as himself, suppose the scene and setting changed to the handsome home of Major Ivan MacDonald, a rambling stucco structure which with several others, more or less pretentious, occupied the crest of Strathconna's only hill. It wasn't a Mount Royal such as Montreal knows, although that was the name they gave it. It wasn't even a Sherbrook Street, this fashion place of the town that wouldn't admit to mushroom growth. But to dwell there was a badge of wealth and the major was keen for badges.
The mansion boasted a spacious dining-room, the walls of which were decorated with superbly mounted heads of animals—elk, buffalo, moose, grizzly and mountain goat—every one of which had fallen under the aim of the old sportsman. He and Fitzrapp were already at table when Ethel Andress breezed in and greeted them cheerfully. Between the two men ensued a friendly competition over which one should have the honor of seating her.
"I tried to have a guest at dinner to-night," remarked the pioneer, as the meal began.
"Who was he, Major?" asked Fitzrapp. "I didn't know there was any visitor worth while in town."
"Worth while?" echoed the old gentleman, with twinkling eyes. "Well, I should say this particular visitor was very much worth while!"
"Quit teasing, uncle," begged Ethel, "and tell us whom you invited."
"Your new young man." The pioneer smiled at her.
"My what?"
"Why, the young chap from the States, Mr. Childress, who saved you yesterday from death by the prairie-dog route."
Mrs. Andress gave a slight start of surprise, and the lids narrowed over the turquoise eyes whose contrast with her raven hair formed one of several attractive details that won her class as a beauty. As her uncle had not mentioned the man in khaki after their ride together the day before, she had assumed that the supposed American had not measured up to her relative's standards.