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Sinclair, Bertrand W., 1881-1972

"North of Fifty-Three"

"
"Not me," he returned, unruffled. "I want a woman of my own kind."
"Heaven save _me_ from that classification!" she observed, with
emphasis on the pronoun.
"Yes?" he drawled. "Well, there's no profit in arguing that point.
Let's be getting on."
He reached for the lead rope of the nearest pack horse.
Hazel urged Silk up a step. "Mr. Wagstaff," she cried, "I must go
back."
"You can't go back without me," he said. "And I'm not traveling that
way, thank you."
"Please--oh, please!" she begged forlornly.
Roaring Bill's face hardened. "I will not," he said flatly. "I'm
going to play the game my way. And I'll play fair. That's the only
promise I will make."
She took a look at the encompassing woods, and her heart sank at facing
those shadowy stretches alone and unguided. The truth of his statement
that she would never reach Cariboo Meadows forced itself home. There
was but the one way out, and her woman's wit would have to save her.
"Go on, then," she gritted, in a swift surge of anger. "I am afraid to
face this country alone. I admit my helplessness. But so help me
Heaven, I'll make you pay for this dirty trick! You're not a man!
You're a cur--a miserable, contemptible scoundrel!"
"Whew!" Roaring Bill laughed.


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