“Murray?” cried Mr. Perier.
“You know him?”
“We all know him. We have good cause to,” said Walter.
“That makes it all the worse, if he has anything against you. No, don’t tell me the story now. We have no time to exchange tales.”
“If we must leave the carts behind,” Neil suggested, “why not hide them in the coulee? Then the Indians may think we have taken them along. Later we can come back from Lake Traverse and get them.”
“It micht work oot that wa’,” returned McNab, falling into Scots’ English again, “but I’m thinkin’ they’ll find the cairts easy eneuch.”
“We’ll tak them doon the coulee a bit,” Neil insisted, in the same tongue. “If Murray finds the tracks he’ll maybe think we’ve gane doon ta the Wild Rice and back across.”
The trader shook his head. “He’ll be findin’ your trail all richt, but ye can maybe delay him for a bit. Weel, do what you’re goin’ ta do quick, an’ be awa’ wi’ ye. I maun be gettin’ back or they’ll miss me.”
“You’re na comin’ wi’ us?” cried Neil.
“Na, na, I’m not rinnin’ awa’ yet.” He switched to French and took his leave of the others. “Cross the Bois des Sioux and make speed for Lake Traverse,” he advised. “Tell Renville I’ll be back there in a few days. It was Renville sent me to find out what that rascal Murray was up to. Good speed and God go with you.”