Downey nodded. "He's counted bad medicine up here."
"I guess he won't bother me any; I'm here to stay."
"No, he won't be apt to bother you any. Probably kill you, though, if you don't keep your eyes open. But don't worry about that, because if he does I'll get him."
"He can't bluff me. I served with the engineers in Russia."
"You'll be servin' with the devils in hell, too, if you don't quit makin' enemies of men like Alex Thumb."
"They didn't use up all the brains, when they made the Mounted,
Captain."
"Corporal'll do me," corrected the officer. "I wasn't with the engineers—in Russia. I was only in the trenches—in France."
As Downey slung his pack to his shoulders the following morning he stepped close to Murchison. The trading room was deserted save for those two, but the officer lowered his voice. "Wentworth ain't the only one around here that needs watchin'," he said warningly.
"What do ye mean?"
"I mean your clerk ain't the fool he lets on he is. That room you put me in was next to his. The chinkin's fallen out in spots, an' his light was lit late, so I just laid in my bunk an' glued my eye to the crack. He was readin'—an' enjoyin' what he read. He'd lay down the book now an' then an' light a good briar pipe. I'd get a good look into his face then, an' he's no more a fool than you or I. He's damned smart lookin'. An' the books he had laid out on the table wasn't books a fool would be readin'. He was careful to hide 'em away when he rolled in—an' he cleaned his fingernails with a white handled dingus, an' brushed his teeth, an' put the tools back in a black leather case that had silver trimmin's. Believe me, there's somethin' comin' off here between now an' summer, an' I'm goin' to ask for the detail!"