“Where do you suppose Frazer will go?” Sandy inquired of Dick soon after Mr. MacClaren’s leave taking. “Do you think that he is really establishing a new trading post at Caribou Lake?”
“No, I don’t,” Dick replied. “I think that was a fabrication, pure and simple. There wouldn’t be enough money in it for him. That is a very sparsely inhabited district. Few Indians trap there during the winter and I doubt very much whether the fur trade would warrant the establishment of a post.”
“That’s what I’ve always heard. The country is rugged and hilly, better adapted to mining and prospecting than to trapping.”
“Exactly. Frazer has no intention of engaging in trade there. You could tell when he said it, that it was a lie. He has other projects in mind.”
“All I know is,” put in Sandy, “that anyone that would associate with characters like Wolf Brennan and Toby McCallum can’t be very honest himself.”
“Where do you suppose he got the gold to cover his shortage?” Dick mused.
“Probably stole it. That’s Uncle Walter’s belief too. It’s another case of robbing Peter to pay Paul.”
Dick and Sandy were sitting on a bench outside the trading room while this discussion was going on. It was a lovely morning and after the rigorous activities of their experience down river, it seemed good merely to sit there basking in the sun. Some distance away, Toma sauntered about among the idling groups of Indians and half-breeds who came here to trade. Presently, he came strolling up with that shrewd gleam in his eyes that denoted some new discovery. Dick looked up and smiled as he approached.
“What’s on your mind now, Toma?”
Without preamble, the young Indian plunged into his subject.