"An' if we hang around here fer a couple o' days, that'll make nine days, with a week's grub. What ye goin' to do 'bout that? I told ye we'd ort to take more."
"Yer head don't hurt you none—the way you work it, does it?" sneered Claw, "I s'pose we couldn't send the Dog Rib back fer some more grub while we was awaitin'? An' while he's gone you kin git a belly full of rootin' up the snow to find the camp."
For two days Claw laid in the tent and laughed at the Captain's sporadic efforts to uncover Brent's camp. "If you'd help, 'stead of layin' around laughin', we might find it!" flared the Captain.
"I don't want to find it," jeered Claw, "I'm usin' my head—me. The main reason I come here was to kill Ace-In-The-Hole, so he couldn't butt in on
the other business. If the storm saved me the trouble, all right."
"But, the dust!"
"Sure—the dust," mocked Claw. "If we find the camp, an' locate the dust, I divide it up with you. If we don't—I slip up here in the spring, when you're chasin' whales, an' with the snow melted off all I got to do is reach down an' pick it up—an' they won't be no dividin', neither."
"What's to hinder me from slippin' in here long about that time? Two kin play that game."
"Help yerself," grinned Claw, "Only, the Mounted patrol will be along in the spring, an' they'll give you a chanct to explain about winterin' them klooches on the Belva Lou. You've forgot, mebbe, that such customs is frowned on."
"Ye damn double dealin' houn'!" cried the Captain, angrily.