"The whole business is rot.
'Vanity of vanities, saith the preacher.' Oh, I know the Book, you
see. I was not born a--a--an outlaw." The grey-brown eyes had in them
a wistful look. "Bah!" he exclaimed, springing to his feet and shaking
himself. "The sight of your Edinburgh face and the sound of your
Edinburgh speech and your old country ways and manners have got on my
recollection works, and I believe that accounts for you being alive
to-day, old man."
He whistled to his horse. Nighthawk came trotting and whinneying to him.
"I have one friend in the world, old boy," he said, throwing his arm
over the black, glossy neck and searching his pocket for a biscuit. "And
even you," he added bitterly, "I fear do not love me for naught."
Saddling his horse, he mounted and calling Little Thunder to him said:
"Take the bunch on as far as the Big Canyon and wait there for me. I am
going back a bit. It is better to be sure than sorry. Cameron, your
best route lies with us. Your twenty-four hours' parole is already up.
To-morrow, perhaps to-night, I shall put you on the Macleod trail. You
are a free man, but don't try to make any breaks when I am gone. My
friend here is extremely prompt with his weapons. Farewell! Get a move
on, Little Thunder! Cameron will bring up the rear."
He added some further words in the Indian tongue, his voice taking a
stern tone.
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