Jack scowled at her with reawakened suspicions. "I keep my gun by me," he growled.
"He got no gun," sneered Bela scornfully. "You 'fraid catch him wit' hands?"
"You said he had your gun," said Big Jack.
"He give it back," said Bela. "He is bad man; but no steal. My big gun, my little gun—see?" She exhibited them.
Jack knew that Sam owned no gun; still he was suspicious. "If you had your gun why didn't you plug him when he left you?" he demanded.
Bela paused for an instant. This was a poser, because in her heart she knew, supposing her story to be true, that she would have shot Sam. She had to think quickly. "I not want no blood," she murmured. "I 'fraid Père Lacombe."
It was well done. Big Jack nodded. "You leave your guns, too," he stipulated.
"Sure!" she said, willingly putting them in the dugout. "Leave one man to watch the boats and the guns. Two men and a woman enough to catch a cook, I guess."
They laughed.
Bela was playing for high stakes, and her faculties were sharpened to a sword-edge. Every look suggested the wronged woman thirsting for justice. She ostentatiously searched in her baggage, and drawing out a piece of moose-hide, cut it into thongs for bonds. Cleverer men than Big Jack and his pals might have been taken in.