"Yes," she promised.
"Likely enough I'll follow to Chicago before long; for either I'll find out something soon, or I'll know there's nothing more to be had here."
"How'll I address you?" she asked.
"Just care of Quesnel; I'll keep in touch with the telegraph station and the mail."
"Where'll you stay?"
He considered. "I don't know. Maybe at Wheedon's; perhaps at the Rock. I'll go there right away, of course. I may decide to stay. What do you know about Wheedon?"
"Not much more than you can judge. Marcellus Clarke paid him for what he did; it's possible, if grandfather wanted something different done, he might pay more."
"And Wheedon would do it?"
"He'd do—or omit doing—small things, I think."
"I believe I can make out Redbird; he's enough like Azen Mabo; if he believes that we're right, we can count on him."
"He believes," Ethel said, "that some one was killed at the Rock last night and that my grandfather was at the bottom of it."
They had completed the telling to each other of what each ought to know; but she had not suspected how unwilling she was to abandon her new friend whom she had regained this morning as from the dead. She did not fear that she was leaving him in danger of his life; she was conscious that whatever was the purpose which yesterday had controlled her grandfather, it had been accomplished,—for the time, at least. Barney might encounter danger in pursuing the event
