“Reckon Lupo thought he’d get some information from you,” said MacDonald.
“But he wasn’t here,” Bob protested.
“No, but you can bet they were actin’ on his orders.”
Bob bethought him of the prisoner, who had whispered that he had something to tell him. He explained to the others. Mr. Hampton thought for a moment.
“I have it,” he said. “Art, bring the others here and we’ll question them. At the same time, Bob, do you slip off and talk to your man. We’ll keep the pair occupied, so that they won’t be able to see. Tell your man that presently, then, we’ll call him up to be questioned, too, and that he’s to pretend sullen obstinacy and refuse—in the presence of his comrades—to answer any questions.”
Bob nodded and, as Art went for the pair, he slipped away in an opposite direction. Executing a flank movement through the trees, he presently arrived on the opposite side of the camp and got behind the tree, against which the man with the wrenched shoulder was sitting. In a rapid whisper he communicated Mr. Hampton’s instructions to the other. The fellow comprehended, and then in a low tone, scarcely audible to Bob, who strained to hear, communicated surprising intelligence.
Bob heard him out, then with a final word of caution, again slipped away, once more skirted camp through the trees, and approached the group from the waterside. The two other half-breeds were being grilled, but without success. At Bob’s approach, Mr. Hampton turned again to Art.
“Bring that other fellow here,” he commanded. “See if he knows any more than these men.”
The man was brought into the council, but, acting on instructions, maintained an obstinate silence.
“Oh, take them away, and feed them,” said Mr. Hampton finally, as if despairing of obtaining any information. “We’ll talk to them later, after I’ve eaten. Dick’s fish will get cold if we don’t fall to, and I’m too hungry to delay with these rascals.”