Reivers had been a leader of men because his mind was stronger than the minds of the men with whom he had dealt. This man was a leader because of the blind, unintelligent force that was in him. And inwardly the fighting man in Reivers glowed at the prospects of the Titanic clash that would come between them.
Shanty Moir as he looked from under his bony brows saw exactly what Reivers wished him to see: a drunken broken squaw-man, so weak that he could not possibly be the slightest source of trouble. Being primitive of mind he listed Reivers at once as helpless. Having done this, nothing could alter his opinion; and Reivers had gained the vantage that he sought.
Moir threw back his head and laughed, softly and behind set teeth, when his quick inspection of Reivers was ended.
“So that’s tuh waster who’s got tuh squaws ‘at hass tuh camp upset,” he said languidly. “Eh, sonnies! Art no men among ye that ye have not gone woman-stealing by this? Tuh waster does not look hard to take a young woman from.”
Reivers broke into an apologetic snigger.
“Don’t you try to steal my two kids, mister,” he whined. “You’d be mighty sorry for your bargain if you did.”
“How so, old son?” demanded Moir with a tolerant laugh.
“Them kids—if you was to steal them without my permission—one or both of ’em—they’d make you wish you’d never seen ’em—‘less I was along,” chuckled Reivers.
“Speak it up, old son,” said Moir sharply. “What’s behind thy fool’s words?”
“Them kids—they’d die if they was took away from me,” replied Reivers seriously. “And they’d take the man who stole ’em to the happy hunting ground along with ’em.” He winked prodigiously. “Lots of funny things in this ol’ world, mister. You wouldn’t think to look at me that those two kids wouldn’t want to live if I wasn’t with ’em, but that’s the fact. I wasn’t always what I’m now, mister. Once—well, I was different once—and them kids will just nacherlly manage to poison the first man who touches ’em—unless I give the word.”