“You did, did you?” he cried angrily. “Why didn’t you tell me, then? You talk a lot about being a friend of mine. Why didn’t you put me wise to all this before?”
“Big Punch no ask of K’lock,” replied the Indian, “Joe think he no care. Think he pull K’lock’s stinger last month when find him out.”
Bainbridge’s lips parted for a vitriolic retort, closed with a snap, and he resumed his paddling in silence. After all, the fellow was not to blame for possessing the characteristic Indian quality of reticence. Knowing his habit of wandering all over the northern part of the state, Bob should have questioned him the instant the Indian set foot in Chebargo camp the day before.
But questioned him for what purpose? Up to five minutes ago not the slightest suspicion of Pete Schaeffer had ever entered his employer’s head. The man had worked for them a number of years. He was quiet and taciturn, sometimes almost sullen; but few woodsmen have much to say for themselves. He had proved himself more than competent, and was apparently faithful to the interests of those who paid his wages.
“Faithful so long as it suited his purpose and no longer!” said Bainbridge under his breath, “The minute the trust gets after him to do its dirty work he’s perfectly willing to knife us. I can hardly wait to get at the cur!”
He was obliged to postpone that gratification a good deal longer than he had expected, however. Though they strained every effort, and sent the canoe fairly flying upstream, the sun sank lower and lower, without the slightest sign of the drive appearing.
With every thousand feet of progress Bob grew more raging. When at length the sun dipped behind the cold, gray, distant hill line, he was filled with a hot, furious anger against the treacherous Schaeffer—an anger which needed every ounce of will power he possessed to suppress.
Determined to find the drive, and have a settlement that night, he stubbornly continued to paddle long after darkness had fallen, and when they could not see much more than a boat length in any direction. At length, however, there was forced upon him a realization of his folly. It would be much wiser to land now and camp, continuing the journey at daybreak, rather than try to make headway through this pitchy blackness.
Still reluctant to pause, Bob milled this over in his mind for ten minutes or more before finally giving the word to Moose, who had made no comment of any sort. The Indian obeyed stolidly, driving the canoe toward the right bank. Within five minutes the two men were hunting dry sticks for a fire.
Later, as he sat relaxed before the grateful blaze, consuming the rough supper with an appetite which only life in those wonderful north woods can give, Bainbridge remained preoccupied, his forehead wrinkled thoughtfully, and his brooding eyes fixed upon the dancing flames.