He's
in Lebanon anyhow, and we'll find him."
"Well, but wait a minute--be quiet a bit," said the old man, his eyes
blinking slowly at the big riverdriver. "I've been 'round a good deal,
and I've had some experience in the world. Did you ever give that Ingolby
a chance to tell you what his plans were? Did you ever get close to him
and try to figure what he was driving at? There's no chance of getting at
the truth if you don't let a man state his case--but no. If he can't make
you see his case then is the time to jib, not before."
"Oh, get out!" cried a rowdy English road-maker in the crowd. "We know
all right what Ingolby's after."
"Eh, well, what is he after?" asked the old man looking the other in the
eye.
"What's he after? Oof-oof-oof, that's what he's after. He's for his own
pocket, he's for being boss of all the woolly West. He's after keeping us
poor and making himself rich. He's after getting the cinch on two towns
and three railways, and doing what he likes with it all; and we're after
not having him do it, you bet. That's how it is, old hoss."
The other stroked his beard with hands which, somehow, gave little
indication of age, and then, with a sudden jerk forward of his head, he
said: "Oh, it's like that, eh? Is that what M'sieu' Marchand told you?
That's what he said, is it?"
The big river-driver, eager to maintain his supreme place as leader,
lunged forward a step, and growled a challenge.
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