"Apparently not, judging by the noise he made. What did you do with him?"
"What did I do with him! Just wait until you see the blackened tree to which he was bound, and then you won't ask such a question."
"I can readily understand how Curly would blacken anything he touched, even a tree. But you didn't burn him. Such a diabolical thing is not in your makeup."
"What did I do with him, then?"
"Scared him almost out of his wits, and then let him go."
"How did you learn that?" Weston demanded. "Have the Indians been telling you anything?"
"I don't have to depend upon the natives for common sense. I have a little left yet, thank God, and reason tells me that Curly is now beyond the Golden Crest, cursing and vowing vengeance upon you and your associates."
"And no one told you all this?" Weston inquired. "Are you sure?"
"Certain. No one told me a word. You have your Indians well trained."
Weston gave a deep sigh of relief, and remained silent for a few minutes. What he was thinking about Reynolds had not the faintest idea. Nevertheless, he watched him closely, expecting any instant to be ordered away for the Ordeal. He believed that his boldness and straightforward manner had made some impression upon the ruler of Glen West, but how much he could not tell.