There was something in the voice that reassured McTaggart. It was not a suspicious voice, and he saw that the stranger was more interested in the captured animal than in himself. He drew a deep breath.
"A trap robber," he said.
The stranger was staring still more closely at Baree. He thrust his gun stock downward in the snow and drew nearer to him.
"God save us again—a dog!" he exclaimed.
From behind, McTaggart was watching the man with the eyes of a ferret.
"Yes, a dog," he answered. "A wild dog, half wolf at least. He's robbed me of a thousand dollars' worth of fur this winter."
The stranger squatted himself before Baree, with his mittened hands resting on his knees, and his white teeth gleaming in a half smile.
"You poor devil!" he said sympathetically. "So you're a trap robber, eh? An outlaw? And—the police have got you! And—God save us once more—they haven't played you a very square game!"
He rose and faced McTaggart.
"I had to set a lot of traps like that," the factor apologized, his face reddening slightly under the steady gaze of the stranger's blue eyes. Suddenly his animus rose. "And he's going to die there, inch by inch. I'm going to let him starve, and rot in the traps, to pay for all he's done." He picked up his gun, and added, with his eyes on the stranger and his finger ready at the trigger, "I'm Bush McTaggart, the factor at Lac Bain. Are you bound that way, M'sieu?"