“And so you let him get away, did you?”
“Ask Ben about that,” Steve replied, pointing to the bandaged face.
In spite of the newcomer’s evident disappointment, a smile came to his face as he looked toward the wounded man.
“He’s a bloomin’ bumble bee!” growled Ben.
“And it seems that he stung you with steel,” said the newcomer. “Brave men you are, to let a kindergarten kid get away with you!”
“What I say is,” Ben answered, angrily, “that you can go and get him yourself. This here beauty mark I’ve got is enough for me.”
“Don’t get excited,” smiled the newcomer. “It will all come out right in the wash. We’ll get them all, in time.”
Clay began to remember the voice.
“I have heard it before somewhere,” he mused. “This man is not an outlaw in the common acceptance of the word. He is probably the man having this very delectable enterprise in charge.”
Then he remembered the scene on the street in Montreal, and the story which had been told him by the campfire up the St. Lawrence came back to his mind.