Читать книгу The Saint of the Speedway онлайн

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He had promised, at that time, a further consignment later in the winter when travelling was good, if he were able to purchase a really reliable dog team to replace the disreputable bunch that had at last succeeded in bringing him in.

Victor had ventured a little frank talk on receiving this opening. He had complimented the man on his strike, and the quality of his gold and had inquired if there were other prospectors in his neighbourhood. It was then he realised something of the man with whom he was dealing. The baffling eyes were raised to the banker’s. They looked, or rather stared, coldly and hardly into his, while he negatively shook his head.

“Ther’ ain’t a guy around my lay-out but myself—and ther’ don’t need to be,” he said with a snap of his square jaws.

It was the quiet tone of threat in the final words that enlightened the banker to that which lay behind the man’s mask-like face, and he had made no further effort to interest his customer.

Since that visit there had been another about mid-winter. The man blew into the bank on the swirl of a blizzard that lasted for three days. At that visit his credit had been more, much more than trebled. And now had come a third trip into the city and Burns was deeply intrigued.