"A very good place of concealment indeed, sir. As soon as it was dark, Mooie returned to watch. What happened to him I haven't fully discovered, sir. But it must have been near midnight when he staggered up to Crossen's place, bleeding and half out of his senses. They brought him here, and I watched over him most of the night. He says the girl went aboard the scow and that the scow started down-river. That much I learned, sir. But all the rest he mumbles in a tongue I can not understand. Crossen says it's Cree, and that old Mooie believes devils jumped on him with clubs down at Kim's Bayou. Of course they must have been men. I don't believe in Mooie's devils, sir."
"Nor I," said Kent, the blood stirring strangely in his veins. "Mercer, it simply means there was some one cleverer than old Mooie watching that trail."
With a curiously tense face Mercer was looking cautiously toward the door. Then he leaned still lower over Kent.
"During his mumblings, when I was alone with him, I heard him speak a name, sir. Half a dozen times, sir—and it was—KEDSTY!"
Kent's fingers gripped the young Englishman's hand.
"You heard THAT, Mercer?"
"I am sure I could not have been mistaken, sir. It was repeated a number of times."
Kent fell back against his pillows. His mind was working swiftly. He knew that behind an effort to appear calm Mercer was uneasy over what had happened.
"We mustn't let this get out, Mercer," he said. "If Mooie should be badly hurt—should die, for instance—and it was discovered that you and I—"
He knew he had gone far enough to give effect to his words. He did not even look at Mercer.