"Is that so?" queried Bob with unpleasant emphasis.
"You're as cocky as a rooster," expostulated the other. "Phil Danvers has swore to do his duty—an' he does it. The most of us is on the make up here, an' the Police've got their traitors, as you know. Danvers is sort of unusual, that's all."
"He ain't my style!" was the retort.
"No," was the dry comment, "I shouldn't presume he was." But the sarcasm was lost on his hearer.
"What was eatin' Scar Faced Charlie, anyway?"
"He's squiffy." Bill had heard the conversation between Me-Casto and Charlie on the trail, but was in no mind to retail it.
"I'm goin' out," said Burroughs, presently, and at this broad hint Bill rose.
"I'm in yer debt," he began awkwardly.
"That's all right." The trader knew and Bill knew that the paid fine was another cord to bind him. "An' now we'll make a pile o' money 'f we're careful. Joe's inside the fort an' you an' me are outside, an' the Injuns are always dry—see? This deal's goin' to be pretty hard on me, what with the government confiscatin' all them nine hundred gallons of whiskey; but we've got more comin', an' we'll have to mix it a little thinner, that's all."
Burroughs went toward the Indian lodges and soon discovered Charlie also sneaking thither.