"Why, what about her?" and the squaw man's eyes opened wide in wonder.
"She's gone, too. Haven't ye heard?"
"The divil!" and Bill leaped to his feet. "What are ye givin' us? Who's stuffed ye with all this nonsense?"
"Ask Old Meg, then. She'll tell ye, fer she's more'n worked up over it; said that the gal went away with the kid in the canoe. Guess them Big Lakes must have an eye fer beauty, too, Bill, an' one of 'em needed a white squaw. Ha, ha, that's a good one."
Siwash Bill hardly heard these closing words. He stood as in a dream. So she was gone, and his plans were all upset. But why did they take her? What did it all mean?
"How did Old Meg know of this, Nick?" he hoarsely asked. "We didn't hear a word."
"Oh, that d— Yellow-leg told her. He burst into her cabin like a tornado. His eyes were starin' wild, an' his voice was like a roar of thunder, so she said, when he asked her about the gal. Where is the cur now, anyway?"
Siwash Bill was more mystified than ever. He stood looking at Shifty in an abstracted manner, and then an angry snarl of rage broke from his lips.
"We're fools, d— fools!" he cried. "While we've been gloatin' over Buckskin Dan an' that Yellow-leg, callin' 'em cowards an' all kinds of names, they've been hikin' after them Injuns to save the boy an' that gal. Oh, I see it all as plain as day."
The squaw man had been outwitted at his own game. His companions knew when to be silent, and discreetly left him to his own thoughts. They sauntered from the building, and discussed the matter outside. Within the store sat Bill, alone, the very incarnation of baffled rage and hatred. The day wore on, and he prowled around waiting for something to happen. Mingled with his rage was a feeling of insecurity. He had formerly believed that his word was law at Hishu; that his plans could not be overturned, and that his commands would be obeyed. But his eyes were being slowly opened. There was some undercurrent which was working against him. The very air seemed ominous with unforeseen events.