This was the third time in a month that he had been
flung headlong into trouble. Take this message now. There was no sense
in it. Selfridge plucked up his courage to say so.
"That won't buy us anything but trouble, Mac. In the old days you could
put over--"
The little man never guessed how close he came to being flung through
the transom over the door, but his instinct warned him to stop. His
objection died away in a mumble.
"O' course I'll do whatever you say," he added a second time.
"See you do," advised his chief, an ugly look in his eyes. "Tell him he
gets till the next boat. If he's here after that, he'd better go heeled,
for I'll shoot on sight wherever we meet."
Selfridge went on his errand with lagging feet. On the way he stopped
at the Pay-Streak Saloon to fortify himself with a cocktail. He found
Elliot sitting moodily alone on the porch of the hotel.
In Gordon's pocket there was a note to Macdonald explaining that he had
nothing to do with the coming of Meteetse. He had expected to send it by
the hotel porter that evening, but the curt order to leave town filled
him with a chill anger. The dictator of affairs at Kusiak might think
what he pleased for all the explanation he would get from him.
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