“No, he won't quit, but there are times when human endurance fails. Not that I fear anything like that for Cameron,” added the Superintendent hastily.
“Oh, he's not the man to fall down,” replied the Inspector. “He goes the limit, but he keeps his head. He's no reckless fool.”
“Well, you ought to know him,” said the Superintendent. “You have been through some things together, but this last week has been about the worst that I have known. This fortnight will be remembered in the annals of this country. And it came so unexpectedly. What do you think about it, Jerry?” continued the Superintendent, turning to the half-breed.
“He good man—cold ver' bad—ver' long. S'pose catch heem on plains—ver' bad.”
The Inspector touched his horse to a canter. The vision that floated before his mind's eye while the half-breed was speaking he hated to contemplate.
“He's all right. He has come through too many tight places to fail here,” said the Inspector in a tone almost of defiance, and refused to talk further upon the subject. But he kept urging the pace till they drew up at the stables of the Big Horn Ranch.
The Inspector's first glance upon opening the stable door swept the stall where Ginger was wont to conduct his melancholy ruminations. It gave him a start to see the stall empty.
“Hello, Smith!” he cried as that individual appeared with a bundle of hay from the stack in the yard outside. “Boss home?”
“Has Mr. Cameron returned?” inquired the Superintendent in the same breath, and in spite of himself a note of anxiety had crept into his voice. The three men stood waiting, their tense attitude expressing the anxiety they would not put into words. The deliberate Smith, who had transferred his services from old Thatcher to Cameron and who had taken the ranch and all persons and things belonging to it into his immediate charge, disposed of his bundle in a stall, and then facing them said slowly:
“Guess he's all right.”