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Sinclair, Bertrand W., 1881-1972

"Raw Gold A Novel"

Then we blotted out the fire, and,
stretching ourselves on the ground, had recourse to the solace of
tobacco.
The longer we laid there the more curious did I become as to what line
of action MacRae purposed to follow. He lay on his back, silent, staring
straight up at the bit of sky that showed through the branches above,
and I'd just reached the point of asking, when he sat up and forestalled
my questions.
"This is going to be risky business, Sarge," he began. "But so far as I
can see, there is only one way that we can hope to get the thing
straightened out. If we can get hold of Hicks or Bevans, any one of the
four, in fact, I think we can _make_ him tell us all we need to know.
It's the only chance for you and Lyn to get your money back, and for me
to square myself."
"I shouldn't think," I put in resentfully, "that you'd want to square
yourself, after the dirty way you've been treated. I'd as soon take to
herding sheep, or washing dirty clothes like a Chinaman, as be a member
of the Mounted Police if what I've seen in the last ten days is a fair
sample of what a man can expect."
"Fiddlesticks!" Mac impatiently exclaimed. "You don't know what you're
talking about. I tell you a man in the Police, if he has any head at
all, can control his own destiny.


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