Smoke hesitated, then dropped his rifle and came up to them.
“Go through him, Louis, an' take his weapons,” the black-bearded man ordered.
Louis was a French-Canadian voyageur, Smoke decided, as were four of the others. His search revealed only Smoke's hunting knife, which was appropriated.
“Now, what have you got to say for yourself, stranger, before I shoot you dead?” the black-bearded man demanded.
“That you're making a mistake if you think I killed that man,” Smoke answered.
A cry came from one of the voyageurs. He had quested along the trail and found Smoke's tracks where he had left it to take refuge on the bank. The man explained the nature of his find.
“What'd you kill Joe Kinade for?” he of the black beard asked.
“I tell you I didn't—” Smoke began.
“Aw, what's the good of talkin'? We got you red-handed. Right up there's where you left the trail when you heard him comin'. You laid among the trees an' bushwhacked him. A short shot. You couldn't 'a' missed. Pierre, go an' get that gun he dropped.”
“You might let me tell what happened,” Smoke objected.