The injustice of it was
beginning to rankle.
He was temperamentally an optimist, but depression rode with him to the
gold camp and did not lift from his spirits till he started back next
day for Kusiak. The news had been flashed by wire all over the United
States that he was a crook. His friends and relatives could give no
adequate answer to the fact that an indictment hung over his head.
In Alaska he was already convicted by public opinion. Even the Pagets
were lined up as to their interests with Macdonald. Sheba liked him and
believed in him. Her loyal heart acquitted him of all blame. But it was
to the wooing of his enemy that she had listened rather than to his.
The big Scotchman had run against a barrier, but his rival expected
him to trample it down. He would wear away the scruples of Sheba by
the pressure of his masterful will.
In the late afternoon, while Gordon was still fifteen miles from Kusiak,
his horse fell lame. He led it limping to the cabin of some miners.
There were three of them, and they had been drinking heavily from a jug
of whiskey left earlier in the day by the stage-driver. Gordon was in
two minds whether to accept their surly permission to stay for the
night, but the lameness of his horse decided him.
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