“Now this begins to look like business,” said Dave. “Old Pegs, you and I must talk this matter over alone.”
“Why alone, my mountain hero?” demanded Rafe, in a bantering tone. “Am I to understand that you do not consider me a trustworthy person?”
“We never trust strangers with our business,” replied Dave. “You do not seem in the least surprised to see Half-breed Jack lying here.”
“Half-breed Jack, eh? And who, pray, is Half-breed Jack?”
“If you don’t know now, you never will,” was the ambiguous reply. “Here, old man, let’s you and I have a talk.”
“I see that you are disposed to set my friends against me,” said Rafe, angrily. “Beware, young man. I am one who never forgets or forgives an injury, and one day I may take occasion to remind you of this one.”
“All right; will you be kind enough to leave us alone now?”
Rafe stood for full two minutes looking with a dark scowl into the face of the young captain of the “Trapping Brigade,” and then, turning on his heel, he walked toward the cabin, his heart torn by contending passions. Old Pegs and Dave remained over the body of the half-breed, looking very ill at ease.
“This man is not to be trusted,” said Dave, quickly. “I can not place him, but I am certain that I have seen him under circumstances of peculiar significance. I can not for my life remember any thing except the place, and that was Fort Garry.”
“He mout hev been thar jest ez you were, Dave. Beavers and bufflers! you don’t go back on a man acause he’s bin in Fort Garry, does you?”