Angus Fitzpatrick opened the message Tee-ka-mee handed to him, and read it. His only sign of emotion was the lifting of an eyebrow. Then, he waved the Indian out.
“McTavish!” he called sharply, and the younger man turned wearily from the window to face his superior.
“I suppose you know that half-breed, Charley Seguis, in your district? He comes up with the brigade every spring, I believe.”
“Yes, I know him. He is a skilful trapper and a half-breed of remarkable intelligence.”
“Huh! That's the trouble; he's got too much intelligence to make him safe as a half-breed. What do you know about him? Is he a bad one?”
“Quite the contrary, so far as I have observed.”
“Well, he's been bad this time. Read that.” Fitzpatrick handed Cardepie's scrawl to McTavish, and watched keenly as the latter read:
SIR:
Yesterday Charley Seguis murder Cree Johnny. No reason I can find. I send this by runner so Mr. McTavish get it before he starts back.
CARDEPIE.