"The uninvited guest," was his greeting. "Is it all over? So?" And
he swallowed Lucile up in his huge bearskin. "Colonel, your hand, and
your pardon for my intruding, and your regrets for not giving me the
word. Come, out with them! Hello, Corliss! Captain Alexander, a good
day."
"What have I done?" Frona wailed, received the bear-hug, and managed to
press his hand till it almost hurt.
"Had to back the game," he whispered; and this time his hand did hurt.
"Now, colonel, I don't know what your plans are, and I don't care.
Call them off. I've got a little spread down to the house, and the
only honest case of champagne this side of Circle. Of course, you're
coming, Corliss, and--" His eye roved past Captain Alexander with
hardly a pause.
"Of course," came the answer like a flash, though the Chief Magistrate
of the Northwest had had time to canvass the possible results of such
unofficial action. "Got a hack?"
Jacob Welse laughed and held up a moccasined foot. "Walking
be--chucked!" The captain started impulsively towards the door. "I'll
have the sleds up before you're ready. Three of them, and bells
galore!"
So Trethaway's forecast was correct, and Dawson vindicated its
agglutinativeness by rubbing its eyes when three sleds, with three
scarlet-tuniced policemen swinging the whips, tore down its main
street; and it rubbed its eyes again when it saw the occupants thereof.
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