Her fingers drew forth, with the bit
of linen, a folded sheet of paper, which seemed to hypnotize her, so
fixedly did she remain looking at it. A sheet of plain white paper,
marked with dots and names and crooked lines that stood for rivers,
with shaded patches that meant mountain ranges she had seen--Bill
Wagstaff's map.
She stared at it a long time. Then she found her time-table, and ran
along the interminable string of station names till she found Ashcroft,
from whence northward ran the Appian Way of British Columbia, the
Cariboo Road, over which she had journeyed by stage. She noted the
distance, and the Limited's hour of arrival, and looked at her watch.
Then a feverish activity took hold of her. She dressed, got her suit
case from under the berth, and stuffed articles into it, regardless of
order. Her hat was in a paper bag suspended from a hook above the
upper berth. Wherefore, she tied a silk scarf over her head.
That done, she set her suit case in the aisle, and curled herself in
the berth, with her face pressed close against the window. A whimsical
smile played about her mouth, and her fingers tap-tapped steadily on
the purse, wherein was folded Bill Wagstaff's map.
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