It was dark, and very cold, when they reached the wooden building, but
Winston's step was lighter, and his spirits more buoyant than they had
been for some months, when, handing the sleigh over to an orderly, he
walked into the guard-room, where bronzed men in uniform glanced at him
curiously. Then he was shown into a bare log-walled hall, where a
young man in blue uniform, with a weather-darkened face was writing at
a table.
"I've been partly expecting a visit," he said. "I'm glad to see you,
Mr. Courthorne."
Winston laughed with a very good intimation of the outlaw's
recklessness, and wondered the while because it cost him no effort.
He, who had, throughout the last two adverse seasons, seldom smiled at
all, and then but grimly, experienced the same delight in an adventure
that he had done when he came out to Canada.
"I don't know that I can return the compliment just yet," he said. "I
have one or two things to ask you."
The young soldier smiled good-humoredly, as he flung a cigar case on
the table. "Oh, sit down and shake those furs off," he said. "I'm not
a worrying policeman, and we're white men, any way. If you'd been
twelve months in this forsaken place, you'd know what I'm feeling.
Take a smoke, and start in with your questions when you feel like it."
Winston lighted a cigar, flung himself down in a hide chair, and
stretched out his feet towards the stove. "In the first place, I want
to know why your boys are shadowing me.
Pages:
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91