She was not at all sure of herself, of
the proper degree of intimacy to permit herself with a strange and
likable young man who had done her so signal a service.
Macdonald left the boat twenty miles below Kusiak with Mrs. Mallory and
the Selfridges. A chauffeur with a motor-car was waiting on the wharf to
run them to town, but he gave the wheel to Macdonald and took the seat
beside the driver.
The little miner Strong grinned across to Elliot, who was standing
beside Miss O'Neill at the boat rail.
"That's Mac all over. He hires a fellow to run his car--brings him up
here from Seattle--and then takes the wheel himself every time he rides.
I don't somehow see Mac sitting back and letting another man run the
machine."
It was close to noon before the river boat turned a bend and steamed up
to the wharf at Kusiak. The place was an undistinguished little log town
that rambled back from the river up the hill in a hit-or-miss fashion.
Its main street ran a tortuous course parallel to the stream.
Half of the town, it seemed, was down to meet the boat.
"Are you going to the hotel or direct to your cousin's?" Gordon asked
Miss O'Neill.
"To my cousin's. I fancy she's down here to meet me.
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