Still dissatisfied, but without sufficing reason for refusing, Maclane put the usual questions to the prospective groom. As witness, Travers introduced old Blenksoe, who, having disposed of Durant, had ambled up, calling him a dear old family retainer—a lifelong friend.
"That's me," corroborated the old sinner. "Rough an' ready, but allus in it with Raish. Not only is Raish by nature and eddication fitted to adorn the proudest spear, but he's a square proposition. Ye kin safely leave it ter Raish, every time."
"Well," reluctantly the minister consented, "where is your license?"
"A license!" exclaimed Travers. "What for?"
"To legalize the marriage," Maclane instructed him. "You must get one from the Gold Commissioner or Justice of the Peace."
"Then that queers the show," stated old Blenksoe, "sence thar ain't no gold round these here diggings, nor no justice, nor no peace."
"Is there no way of dispensing with it, under exceptional circumstances?" Evelyn asked, anxiously. "If you knew how imperative my reason for desiring haste——"
"In lieu of it, then," the minister conceded, "I will accept a copy of the appropriate clause of the Dominion Marriage Act, signed by the Mounted Policeman in charge of the district where Miss Durant resides."
And before Raish, who sprang forward, with an oath, could stop him, he had entered the Customs building, calling for Sergeant Scarlett.