“How you like ’em new factor?” came the next question.
“Mr. Scott is a very nice fellow,” replied Dick, half smiling to himself.
“Mr. Frazer fine fellow too.”
Dick looked startled. “I’m—I’m glad you like him,” he stammered.
“You no like him?” persisted the Indian.
“Why do you ask me that question?” Dick wanted to know.
The Indian did not answer.
“You call ’em your name Dick Kent?”
“Yes.”
The Indian rolled a cigarette and lighted it, inhaling the smoke deeply, puffing with satisfaction. Sandy came out and, perceiving his seat occupied, stood leaning lazily against the door frame. An interval of silence, then Dick’s questioner fumbled in his pocket and drew forth a slip of white paper which he handed over with a slight bow.