“Swear all you want to, lad,” said Moir and dropped him cold with a light tap on the jaw.
“Pick him up.” Moir’s moving revolver had seemed to cover every one present, but now the muzzle hesitated on Joey. “Carry him into tuh shack.”
As Joey obeyed Moir stepped back toward the little dugout, but stopped well out of reach of a possible rush.
“Old son,” he said slowly, and the gun barrel pointed at Reivers’ right eye, “old son, if you yell again tonight let it be your prayers, because you’ll need ’em. Dost hear? I suspect ’twas thy yelling scared Tige into the river. Wouldst send thee down after him, only I’ve use for you in tuh pits. Crawl in and lie still if wouldst live till daylight, —— you. Wilt pay for the loss of Tige, I warn you that.”
He turned away and Reivers fell back on his blankets chuckling boyishly. He was in fine fettle. The Snow-Burner was coming back to his old form, and in the delight of the moment’s difficulties he had temporarily lost the softening memories that had disturbed him of late.
“How was it, old-timer?” he laughed. “Could you pick any flaw in it?”
MacGregor shook his head in wonder.
“I had a man go fey on me once, up on the Slave Lake trail,” he said slowly. “He let go just such yells as came from your mouth now. I’m thinking no man could yell so lest he’s fey himself, or has travelled wi’ auld Nickie and stole some of his music.”
“Quite so. Exactly the impression I wished to create,” said Reivers. “I thank you for your compliment, but your analysis is all wrong. Complete control of your vocal organs, that’s all. You see I wished to let out just such a yell. It was rather hard, because my vocal organs never had made such a sound before, and they protested. I forced them to do it.