"That's Hendrie's automobile," he said. "If he's in it—there's a hell of a poor chance of getting a surgeon from Winnipeg."
But Phyllis made no answer. She was staring out down the trail, watching, watching for the coming of the vehicle, in the hope that Hendrie was not with it.
The moment passed. Then all of a sudden she cried out, and stood with outstretched arm pointing.
"Look," she cried. "Look, look! It is—Mr. Hendrie."
A few moments later the great machine rolled up. The millionaire, at sight of Angus and Phyllis, signed to the driver, and, instead of going on to the front of the house, the machine drew up at the office door. He leaped to the ground and came over to them at once.
"I just made it," he cried. "Got the last train out of Winnipeg. They've closed down tighter than hell. There's not a locomotive running in the country to-day—except to carry mails. Just the loco and caboose—that's all. I was dead in luck. Inside information put me wise. Say—there's going to be the devil to pay."
"There sure is," replied Angus grimly. "Say, just come right in. There's things—doing."
Hendrie glanced sharply into the man's face. Then his eyes turned quickly upon Phyllis. But he followed his manager into the office without a word.
Inside Angus pushed a chair forward for the millionaire's accommodation. But the latter made no attempt to use it.
"Well?" he demanded, looking from one to the other. "What's—doing?"