The fact puzzled him more than ever. How Gregson and Thorne, two of the
best engineers in the country, could voluntarily surrender a task like
the building of the Hudson Bay Railroad simply because they were "tired
of the country" was more than he could understand.
It was not until they were about to leave the table that Howland's eyes
accidentally fell on Gregson's left hand. He gave an exclamation of
astonishment when he saw that the little finger was missing. Gregson
jerked the hand to his side.
"A little accident," he explained. "You'll meet 'em up here, Howland."
Before he could move, the young engineer had caught his arm and was
looking closely at the hand.
"A curious wound," he remarked, without looking up. "Funny I didn't
notice it before. Your finger was cut off lengthwise, and here's the
scar running half way to your wrist. How did you do it?"
He dropped the hand in time to see a nervous flush in the other's face.
"Why--er--fact is, Howland, it was shot off several months ago--in an
accident, of course." He hurried through the door, continuing to speak
over his shoulder as he went, "Now for those after-supper cigars and our
investigation."
As they passed from the dining-room into that part of the inn which was
half bar and half lounging-room, already filled with smoke and a dozen
or so picturesque citizens of Le Pas, the rough-jowled proprietor of the
place motioned to Howland and held out a letter.
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