Both Dick and Sandy started. They had never looked at the situation from quite that angle. The young Indian’s statement had induced a new train of thought. Come to think of it, why had Sandy’s uncle, Mr. Walter MacClaren, factor at Fort Good Faith and superintendent for the Hudson Bay Company for all that vast northern territory, sent them over to Half Way House in the first place? Sandy looked at Dick searchingly for another moment, then broke forth:
“Gee, I never thought about that. Toma, you’re too deep for us. I can begin to see now.”
Dick pursed his lips, scowling slightly.
“Mr. MacClaren said that the hunting was good up around Half Way House and that we’d enjoy our summer’s vacation there. He didn’t tell us that he was suspicious of Mr. Frazer. Naturally he wouldn’t. He wanted us to find that out for ourselves. Sandy,” he glanced eagerly across at his chum, “as far as you know, has Mr. Frazer a reputation for being much of a practical joker?”
Sandy put down his cup and proceeded to pour out his second helping of tea.
“No, I’ve never heard that he was. And certainly he doesn’t look the part. I wouldn’t call him frivolous. My impression of him has always been that he is inclined to be sort of taciturn, reserved and fairly uncommunicative.”
At this juncture, Toma again broke into the discussion.
“He not look like man that see anything to laugh about ever. I no like that fellow very much. I no like them friends he keep alla time hanging around the post. Look like bad men to me.”
On many occasions previously during their sojourn in the North, the two boys had come to place a good deal of reliance on the young Indian’s snap judgment. He had an almost uncanny ability to read character and of finding hidden traits, both good and bad, in the persons with whom he came in contact. Seldom did he err.
“He’s referring to Wolf Brennan and Toby McCallum,” said Sandy. “Well, I don’t know as one could call them Frazer’s friends.”