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The Trail of the Golden Horn

hear what she said. The doctor may be at Big Chance. Anyway, if he isn’t there he will be somewhere.”

“And you will go—father!” Marion exclaimed in surprise.

“If I don’t, who will? The missionary is too good a man to let die without making an effort to save his life.”

“But suppose you are overtaken by a storm, a snow-slide, a pack of wolves, or some other terrible thing? That trail over which we came lies right in the very shadow of death.”

Hugo merely smiled at his daughter’s anxiety. How could he explain that dangers meant nothing to him? The wilderness was his home, and a journey which might appal others was as life to his being. He also kept to himself another reason why he wished to go for the doctor. He believed that the diamong ring which he had intrusted to the missionary was the cause of the shooting. He had made a brief search for it, but could not find it. There was but one explanation, according to his way of thinking. Someone must have been watching through the window that night he had given the ring to Charles Norris. Only one man in the vicinity, he felt certain, would commit such a deed. Hugo, accordingly, felt somewhat responsible for what had happened to the missionary, and it was necessary for him to do all in his power to help him.

Leaving the bedroom, Marion went to the side of the unconscious man. She looked upon his pale face and long beard. How noble he seemed lying there, like a warrior at rest, so she thought. He was breathing, but so low that only with difficulty could it be detected. The sergeant was standing near, while the constable was at the stove preparing something for supper. Tom