“Good night, Mr. Treplin. And thank you for—going out of your way.” But had she seen the flash in Toppy’s eye and the set of his jaw she might not have laughed so merrily as he flung out of the room.
In the store on the other side of the hallway Toppy was surprised to find Tilly, the squaw, waiting patiently behind a low counter on which lay a pair of blankets bearing a tag “XX.” As he entered, the woman pushed the blankets toward him and pointed to a card lying on the counter.
“Put um name here,” she said, indicating a dotted line on the card and offering Toppy a pencil tied on a string.
Toppy saw that the card was a receipt for the blankets. As he signed, he looked closely at the squaw. He was surprised to see that she was a young woman, and that her features and expression distinguished her from the other squaws he had seen by the intelligence they indicated. Tilly was no mere clod in a red skin. Somewhere back of her inscrutable Indian eyes was a keen, strong mind.
“How did you know what I wanted?” Toppy asked as he packed the blankets under his arm.
The squaw made no sign that she had heard. Picking up the card, she looked carefully at his signature and turned to hang the card on a hook.
“So you were listening when Reivers was talking to me, were you?” said Toppy. “Did you listen after he went out?”
“Mebbe,” grunted Tilly. “Mebbe so; mebbe no.” And with this she turned and waddled back into the living-quarters in the rear of the store.
Toppy looked after her dumbfounded.
“Huh!” he said to himself. “I’ll bet two to one that Reivers knows all about what we said before morning. I suppose that will mean something doing pretty quick. Well, the quicker the better.”