"Hey, you Injuns!
What's the quickest way to the railroad?"
The guides pointed due north. "Mebbe-so wan hondre mile," announced
one.
"But," cried Wentworth, "we're going back by way of the post, aren't
we?"
"We're going to hit for the railway the quickest way God will let us!"
"But, I--I left something--that is, I have nothing to travel in but
these field clothes, and they're shockingly soiled and tattered."
"Soiled and tattered--hell! What's that got to do with saving years of
trouble at the mill? Maybe you ain't as pretty as you'd like to
be--but, you've got enough on so they can't arrest you----"
Wentworth felt a decidedly uncomfortable thrill at the word "arrest."
He was thinking of a certain Russian sable coat that lay in his trunk
at the cabin, and guarded from prying eyes by only a flimsy trunk lock.
He thought, also, of Downey--and wondered. He would have given much to
have returned to that cabin, but a single glance into Orcutt's face
stilled any thought of further objection, and he reluctantly acquiesced.
"We can follow the line of the tote-road," he said. "I blazed it to
the railway, and by the way, Cameron said that McNabb had already
started construction--had twenty or thirty miles of it completed
several days ago."
"Started construction?" cried Orcutt. "Construction of what?"
"The tote-road. He figured it would be quicker and cheaper to haul his
material for the mill in from the new railway than to ship by boat
around through the Bay to Port Nelson, and then drag it up the river by
scow.
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