Laura nodded agreement and studied the envelope. The address was Stannard's and at the top was printed, Sports service. Taxidermy.
"Perhaps you had better open the envelope," the officer resumed.
Laura did so and pulled out a bill. "To preserving and mounting two big-horn heads— To packing for shipment—"
The other man took the bill. He was a big brown-skinned fellow and his steady quiet glance indicated that he knew the woods.
"Sure!" he said. "The charge for packing is pretty steep; but when you mean to beat the export-prohibition— Well, I guess this fixes it!"
"What has Mr. Stannard's bill to do with you?" Laura asked in a haughty voice.
"To begin with, he can't ship those heads out of Canada. Then it looks as if he killed the big-horn on a government game reserve."
"Your statement's ridiculous," said Laura angrily. "My father is an English sportsman, not a poacher."
"Anyhow, he killed two mountain sheep not long since."
"You cannot force Miss Stannard to admit it," Dillon interrupted.