The two men who entered the trading room within a few minutes after Corporal Rand’s sudden exit were undoubtedly half-breeds. Both were heavy, powerful-looking specimens of the lowest type of humanity to be found in the North. Their appearance was far from prepossessing. They shambled over to the counter, elbowed their way through the small group of customers and stood for a moment watching Factor MacClaren wrapping up merchandise purchased by the various members of the chattering party.
Behind the pages of his magazine, Dick covertly watched them. Thus far, they had made no effort to approach or accost Nichols, whose indolent form slouched on one of the high stools, which had been placed before the counter. To all appearances, the two newcomers were entirely oblivious of the presence, or even the existence of the big prospector. Not once had their dark, insolent glances been turned in his direction.
But—and here was a curious thing—each passing moment seemed to bring them closer and closer to the man under police surveillance. They accomplished this maneuver in a manner that would have done credit to an experienced horseman, jockeying for position at the commencement of a race. Almost imperceptibly, and by degrees, they had edged nearer, covering the short space separating them from the imperturbable Nichols without once creating the impression that the thing had been done intentionally.
They were so close now that Nichols might easily have reached out with one long arm and placed it on the shoulder of either one of them. The prospector’s eyes were upon Factor MacClaren and his face was perfectly immobile and expressionless. If he was aware of the proximity of the murderous looking pair, he gave no sign of it. He moved slightly in his chair but completely ignored them. Dick had about come to the conclusion that the two half-breeds were not those whom Corporal Rand had expected, when a very suspicious movement on the part of Murky caught his alert gaze. With a lazy, seemingly unconscious action, the prospector’s hand was thrust in a pocket, held there for a moment, then was drawn forth, palm down and thrust quickly towards the nearer of the two stalky forms. Swift as the movement had been, Dick had, nevertheless, caught a glimpse of the roll of bills so secretly exchanged.
The half-breeds lingered for a very short time near their benefactor, then advanced along the counter and purchased several plugs of smoking tobacco from Factor MacClaren. Completing this transaction, they turned nonchalantly and walked out. No sooner had the door closed after them, than Murky rose and sauntered over to the window. He was still gazing out when the door creaked again and Corporal Rand entered.
“I’ve been out inspecting MacClaren’s new warehouse,” he announced cheerfully. “You must be expecting a large volume of business this winter.” He addressed the factor.
Walter MacClaren put down a large bundle of merchandise and paused to wipe his perspiring face.
“Yes,” he answered, “trading is good this year. Just now the indications are especially bright. Although this is just the beginning of the fur season, I’ve never seen better prices or the promise of so large a trade.”
“Indian trappers are out everywhere,” Corporal Rand remarked. “Yesterday I ran into a party of them going out to the Big Smoky. They told me they expected a good catch this year.”
MacClaren nodded as he went back to his work. The mounted policeman moved over to the table where Dick sat and placed a friendly hand on that young man’s shoulder.