The mystery of her would
be explained tomorrow. He was sure of that. She would confide in him.
Now that she had so utterly placed herself under his protection, she
would tell him what she had not dared to disclose aboard the _Nome_. So
he thought only of the silvery distance of twilight that separated them,
and spoke at last to Stampede.
"I'm rather glad you brought her," he said.
"I didn't bring her," protested Stampede. "She _came_." He shrugged his
shoulders with a grunt. "And furthermore I didn't manage it. She did
that herself. She didn't come with me. I came with _her_."
He stopped and struck a match to light his pipe. Over the tiny flame he
glared fiercely at Alan, but in his eyes was something that betrayed
him. Alan saw it and felt a desire to laugh out of sheer happiness. His
keen vision and sense of humor were returning.
"How did it happen?"
Stampede puffed loudly at his pipe, then took it from his mouth and
drew in a deep breath.
"First I remember was the fourth night after we landed at Cordova.
Couldn't get a train on the new line until then. Somewhere up near
Chitina we came to a washout. It didn't rain. You couldn't call it that,
Alan. It was the Pacific Ocean falling on us, with two or three other
oceans backing it up. The stage came along, horses swimming, coach
floating, driver half drowned in his seat.
Pages:
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176