"The express won't take Mrs. Mazarine away tonight," the old man said, a
look of jungle fierceness filling his face.

Burlingame laughed unpleasantly. "Yes, you'll foul your own nest,
Mazarine, and then bring her back to live in it. I know you. It isn't
the love of God in your heart, because you'll never forgive her; but
you'll bring her back to the nest you fouled, just because you want her
--'You damned and luxurious mountain goat,' as Shakespeare called your
kind."

With another laugh, which somewhat resembled that of the two strange
vanished Chinamen, Burlingame flicked his horse and cantered away. A
little time afterwards, however, he turned and looked toward Askatoon,
and he saw the old man whipping his horse into a gallop to reach Askatoon
railway station before the express went East.

"It's true, Mazarine," he said aloud. "Orlando booked for the sleeper
going East in thirty minutes; but the sleeper was for one only, and that
one was his mother, you old hippopotamus. . . . But I wonder where
she is--where the divine Louise is? She hasn't levanted with her
Orlando. . . . Now, I wonder!" he added.

Then, with a sudden impulse, he dug heels into his horse's sides, and
galloped back towards Askatoon. He wanted to see what would happen
before the express went East.




CHAPTER XIII