nerve in him listened for the far clack of hoofs that would mean Effie Scannell and Kiliat riding up the Lion.
“Fellers say why don’t I work more’n three days a week,” said the Packer, coming into daylight again with the water shining on his tattered oilskins. “I says what’s the sense o’ it when I can’t hev a drunk more’n onst in five months? What’d I want wi’ the money? What do any single man want wi’ money ’cept ter git drunk on it?”
Randal looked down on the lean old man bent double in the narrow race.
“By Jove,” he said, “I believe you’re right, Packer.”
Then he sprang up, and went back to Ormond hastily. For, far down on the level of the Creek, two horses swerved into the bridle-track as one.
It was a quarter-hour later when Effie Scannell came to Ormond’s little hut behind the power-house; pushing the door wide, and groping in the gloom for photographs that Ormond had left on the table. Randal spoke across it gently, that he might not frighten her; and the blood left his heart to see the light flash on her face.
“Guy—dearest! Oh, I haven’t seen you for so long! Guy—what———?”
Randal kept the table between them.
“I came here to beg your pardon. But I
