"Oh, no," the trooper answered lightly. "I'll have a Cree along as a guide."
"A Cree," she scoffed. "What good will he be if you find West? He'll not help you against him at all."
"Not what he's with me for. I'm not supposed to need any help to bring back one man."
"It's—it's just suicide to go after him alone," she persisted. "Look what he did to the guard at the prison, to Mr. Whaley, to Onistah! He's just awful—hardly human."
"The lad's under orders, lass," McRae told her. "Gin they send him into the North after West, he'll just have to go. He canna argy-bargy aboot it."
Jessie gave up, reluctantly.
The little cavalcade started. Morse drove. The girl brought up the rear.
Her mind was still on the hazard of the journey Beresford must take.
When Morse stopped to rest the dogs for a few moments, she tucked up
Onistah again and recurred to the subject.
"I don't think Win Beresford should go after West alone except for a Cree guide. The Inspector ought to send another constable with him. Or two more. If he knew that man—how cruel and savage he is—"
Tom Morse spoke quietly. "He's not going alone. I'll be with him."