Tybalt’s blood was tingling with the joy of discovery. “It is a great name,” he said shortly.
“The Slave was great—the Indians said so at the last.”
“But that was not the name of the Slave?”
“Mais non. Who said so! Charles Rex—like that! was the man who wrote the letters.”
“To the Great Slave?”
Pierre made a gesture of impatience. “Very sure.”
“Where are those letters now?”
“With the Governor of the Company.” Tybalt cut the tobacco for his pipe savagely. “You’d have liked one of those papers?” asked Pierre provokingly.
“I’d give five hundred dollars for one,” broke out Tybalt.
Pierre lifted his eyebrows. “T’sh, what’s the good of five hundred dollars up here? What would you do with a letter like that?”