SON OF THE WIND
power. But with this business despatched, and the next problem rising to the front of his mind, he felt a chill upon the warmth of his satisfaction.
He had not foreseen the moves in his game. This one sprang upon him as the other receded. He stared at it, incredulous to find anything so at odds with all his determinations, yet so immovably insisting on being a part of his scheme. There was no going forward without it. It was necessary, if he were to get the thing he wanted; but what was to become of his perfect and justifying theory of silence? It would not be destroyed. It would be workable still, and safe enough no doubt, but it would become a makeshift thing—to be passed over hastily, and not too closely scrutinized.
He tossed the question in his mind as he hurried up the road where the dust the wheels of the stage had stirred hovered in a thin fog. Time and necessity were at his heels; he realized he was going to accept the exigencies of his position—but he cursed fate, that put such ugly deviations upon the path of clear enterprise; he cursed Ferrier for being such as he was, and for the first time in his life, for the instant, had an ugly glimpse of himself. Reluctantly he turned down the steep and weedy way that led to the clearing, and knocked at Ferrier's door. He
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