had happened, and then, with
angry self-reproach, he flung the oars into the rowlocks of his skiff
and drove down and athwart the stream with long, powerful strokes.

"That's like a woman!" he said to himself as he bent to the oars, and
now and then turned his head to make sure that the canoe was still safe.
"Do the trick better than a man, and then collapse like a rabbit."

He was Max Ingolby, the financier, contractor, manager of great
interests, disturber of the peace of slow minds, who had come to Lebanon
with the avowed object of amalgamating three railways, of making the
place the swivel of all the trade and interests of the Western North;
but also with the declared intention of uniting Lebanon and Manitou in
one municipality, one centre of commercial and industrial power.

Men said he had bitten off more than he could chew, but he had replied
that his teeth were good, and he would masticate the meal or know the
reason why. He was only thirty-three, but his will was like nothing the
West had seen as yet. It was sublime in its confidence, it was free from
conceit, and it knew not the word despair, though once or twice it had
known defeat.

Men cheered him from the shore as his skiff leaped through the water.
"It's that blessed Ingolby," said Jowett, who had tried to "do" the
financier in a horsedeal, and had been done instead, and was now a
devout admirer and adherent of the Master Man. "I saw him driving down
there this morning from Lebanon. He's been fishing at Seely's Eddy."

"When Ingolby goes fishing, there's trouble goin' on somewhere and he's
stalkin' it," rejoined Osterhaut. "But, by gol, he's goin' to do this
trump trick first; he's goin' to overhaul her before she gits to the
bridge. Look at him swing! Hell, ain't it pretty! There you go, old
Ingolby. You're right on it, even when you're fishing."

On the other-the Manitou-shore Tekewani and his braves were less
talkative, but they were more concerned in the incident than Osterhaut
and Jowett. They knew little or nothing of Ingolby the hustler, but they
knew more of Fleda Druse and her father than all the people of Lebanon
and Manitou put together. Fleda had won old Tekewani's heart when she
had asked him to take her down the Rapids, for the days of adventure
for him and his tribe were over. The adventure shared with this girl
had brought back to the chief the old days when Indian women tanned
bearskins and deerskins day in, day out, and made pemmica