"Don't know," was the reply. "Under the trees maybe, unless the owner of this cabin will give me a shake-down here."
"No, that won't do," came the response. "I've a snug cabin over yon, so if ye'll put up with the accommodation ye're welcome to it, sich as 'tis."
Grey at once rose to his feet, and followed his companion, who was already starting toward the door. They had advanced but a few rods from the cabin when the clatter of hoofs sounded along the trail. In a few moments a horseman appeared, astride a raw lanky cayuse, and drew up before the store. Grey had paused, and was looking back, but his companion clutched him fiercely by the arm, and hurried him along.
"Come, lad," he whispered, "it's no time fer starin' now. Let's git under shelter."
CHAPTER VI THE DEN OF PLOTTERS
The horseman quickly made the cayuse fast to a post. He then turned and watched the retreating forms of Grey and Buckskin Dan. He stood there for several minutes after the two had disappeared within a small log cabin up the trail. He was a lean, lank, Cassius-type of man, with furtive, restless eyes, which had won for him the sobriquet of "Shifty" Nick. An old, dirty, weather-beaten slouch hat had been drawn over his low receding forehead until the broad brim was on a dead level with his piercing eyes. Presently his lips curled in an angry snarl, and a row of white teeth showed for an instant beneath a heavy dark moustache. Thrusting his hands deep into his pockets he moved toward the store, gave the dog lying by the door a savage kick, and entered the building. Seeing no one there he strode swiftly forward to the door at the rear of the room. Here he paused and listened. Hearing voices within he gave the door a push, and entered. Seated on stools were the two card players, Siwash Bill and Windy Pete, while sitting on the floor in one corner was the Indian woman. Her fingers were busy stringing beads for a buckskin jacket lying near. She seemed to be engrossed solely with her work, and her head was bent low. But not a sound in that room escaped her acute ears. Occasionally she lifted her eyes and gave a lightning glance toward the two men. Then in that brief instant her dusky face revealed a world of meaning. A passion deep and intense was consuming that quiet form. Love, fear and hate were raging there, contending with one another in fierce conflict.
Shifty Nick looked contemptuously at the two men before him.
"So this is how yer spendin' yer time," he snarled. "Great lot you are. Are yez scart of somethin'? What's happened to the d— place? Scarce a soul around, an' you hidin' here with the squaw."