The Canadian government might trust him, but I
wouldn't--not if he took oath on a stack of Bibles, and gave a cast-iron
bond to play fair. I couldn't give any sound reason for feeling that
way, beyond the shabby treatment he'd given MacRae. But somehow the
man's personality grated on me. Lessard was of the type, rare enough,
that can't be overlooked if one comes in contact with it; a big,
dominant, magnetic brute type that rouses either admiration or
resentment in other ordinary mortals; the kind of a man that women
become fascinated with, and other men invariably hate--and sometimes
fear. I didn't stop to analyze my feeling toward him, just then; but I
had the impulse to keep what little I knew to myself, and I obeyed the
promptings of the sixth sense.
"He did," I answered. "But we can take a chance. Send men that know the
country. Lyn Rowan's kinfolk are few and far between, now; that gold
means a good deal to her, in her present circumstances."
"H--m-m." He mused a few seconds. Then: "If I think there's any
possibility of finding it--well, I'll see what can be done, after those
bodies are brought in. You, I suppose, are ready to start?"
I nodded.
"Sergeant Goodell is in charge of the detail. You'll probably find him
about to go. That's all.
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