"Well, Hec'—how's the whiskey-running? Putting it down any?" Welland began, while he carelessly picked his teeth with a bit of match.
The question was delivered in a low tone, implying caution.
"So-so," Hector replied vaguely.
Experience had taught him to trust nobody.
"But they're a cunning crowd behind it," he added.
"So they are," Welland agreed emphatically. "Not a doubt of it. That bunch in the Calgary country, now—"
"Is there a bunch working in the Calgary country?" asked Hector innocently.
"You know there is." Welland twinkled. "Guileless angel, ain't you? But, talking of whiskey—"
"Talkin' o' whiskey, are yah?" The trader's oily voice cut in suddenly. "You'll be able to talk o' whiskey for a long time, Sergeant, when you've signed this invoice!"
He winked meaningly at Welland, whose face for one moment betrayed surprise, then became intensely vigilant.