"No, I didn't tell him. I thought maybe you'd like to do that yourself, dear."
Nell kissed her father again, with such enthusiasm that Jack's disapproval returned with increased bitterness.
"You're a darling, Father," she declared happily. In the reaction from her suffering, she was bubbling over with girlish gayety. "I'd just love to tell him. It will be such fun to see his eyes pop out."
It was fun—and something deeper and sweeter. Jack, for his part, welcomed the fact of this new relationship with the man so curiously and intimately brought into his life. He rejoiced for his own sake, and he rejoiced more for Nell's; since now she need no longer mourn over being a nameless waif, though the mystery of her life was only partly explained.
The hands of the two met in a warm clasp, and their eyes met no less warmly in a firm, honest gaze of mutual liking and respect.
"I reckon I've done a pretty good day's work," Jim said, with a whimsical smile to mask his emotion. "I've got a daughter and a son, too—both in one day. And I didn't have anybody before—not for twelve years." There was a pathetic intensity in his voice, which touched the two hearers to a new appreciation of this man's great loneliness. Then Jim Maxwell shrugged his shoulders, as if he would cast off the mood of emotion. He spoke rapidly now, with incisive directness.
"You must get across the Border as fast as you can. I'll tell you some short cuts." He had driven his dogs often to Malamute, and knew the ways by which the fugitives might gain advantage over their pursuers. "You've had an hour here, and it would be risky to wait any longer before starting out. They may be after you any minute."
HE HAD OFTEN DRIVEN HIS DOGS TO MALAMUTE.
"They may think I've been burned up in the fire," Jack suggested.