So we held council of war with Piegan, after which we saddled up
and made ready to tackle the soaked prairies.
While we were packing grub and bedding on Piegan's extra horse, Lyn
joined us, wrapped from head to heel in a yellow slicker. And by the way
Mac greeted her I knew that they had bridged that gap of five years to
their mutual satisfaction; that she was loath to see him set out on a
hazardous mission she presently made plain.
"Let it go, Gordon," she begged. "There's been too much blood shed over
that wretched gold already. Let them have it. I know something dreadful
will happen if you follow it up."
MacRae smiled and shook his head stubbornly. "I'm too deep in, little
woman, to quit now," he told her patiently. "If it was only a matter of
your money, we could get along without it. But Sarge stands to lose a
lot, if we give up at this stage of the game. And besides, I'd always be
more or less on the dodge if this thing isn't cleared up. I've got to
see it through. You wouldn't have me sneak out of this country like a
whipped pup, would you? There's too big an account to settle with those
fellows, Lyn; it's up to us, if we're men. I can't draw back now, till
it's settled for good and all, one way or the other."
[Illustration: "THERE'S BEEN TOO MUCH BLOOD SHED OVER THAT WRETCHED GOLD
ALREADY.
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