Reivers related briefly that he had been ill and had been cared for at the MacGregor cabin.
“And my little Hattie is well? No harm came to her from the black devil they sent to steal her? You must know, man, they taunted me by sending——”
“I know,” interrupted Reivers; and he told how he had disposed of the kidnapper.
“You—you did that?” MacGregor clutched Reivers’s hand. “You saved my little Hattie?”
“None of that,” snapped Reivers, snatching away his hand. “I did nothing for your little Hattie. Why should I? What is your Hattie to me? I simply put that black-beard out of business because I needed food and he had it on the sledge.”
“Yet you’re not one of the gang here—now? You are no’ anything but a friend of me and mine?”
“A friend?” sneered Reivers. “I’ll tell you, Mac: I’m here as my own friend, absolutely nothing else.”
“But Hattie—and my brother Duncan—they understand about me now.”
“They know you’re either dead or worse,” was the reply. “And they’re at Dumont’s Camp now, waiting for Moir to come there on a spree, when they expect to trail him back to this camp.”
MacGregor nodded his head weakly.