Her hard common sense as a working-woman suggested to her that Anderson was nursing illusions; and she scornfully though silently hoped that the "old rip" would soon, one way or another, be off his shoulders.
But the illusions, for the moment, were Anderson's sustenance.

His imagination, denied a more personal and passionate food, gave itself with fire to the redeeming of an outlaw, and the paying of a spiritual debt.
It was Wednesday.

After a couple of drizzling days the weather was again fair.

The trains rolling through the pass began with these early days of July to bring a first crop of holiday-makers from Eastern Canada and the States; the hotels were filling up.

On the morrow McEwen was to start for Vancouver.