"And I guess you'll
wish you never hired him. You'll find you've made a grand mess of
things!" A high-pitched, nervous quality had crept into the girl's
voice, and McNabb saw that she was very near to tears. "Do you know
what they're saying?" she cried. "They're saying that Oskar has jumped
ten-thousand-dollar bail that some friend put up for him! They're
liars, and I hate them! Wherever he is, he'll come back at the proper
time. He'll show them--and he'll show you, too!" With an effort, the
girl steadied her trembling voice. "And when he does come back, he'll
find he's got one friend--and I'll--I'll make up for the rest. I'm
going to get ready now. I want to get away from it all. When do we
start?"
"To-night," answered old John, "on the late train." And when the door
closed behind his daughter, he grinned and winked at himself in the
mirror.
When old John McNabb and his daughter stepped off the sagging
combination coach at the siding which was the northern end of the new
tote-road, the first man they saw was Orcutt, resplendent in striped
mackinaw, Stetson hat, and high-laced boots. As the banker came toward
them, McNabb stared about him in evident perplexity, his glance
shifting from the piles of tarpaulin-covered material, to the loaded
trucks that with a clash and grind of gears were just pulling out upon
the new tote-road that stretched away between the tall balsam spires to
the southward.
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