“Here! Here!” shouted the factor. “Good boy, Dick! If you and Sandy and Toma can manage to carry out your plan successfully we’ll all be proud of you.”
Dick flushed with embarrassment, then hurried on:
“The debt to the Indians is not the only one. There are three persons, all of them white men, who are entitled to share in our good fortune. These men are Factor MacClaren, Corporal Richardson and Malemute Slade.”
The right hand of the mounted policeman stole over to Dick’s shoulder.
“We appreciate your kindness, Dick, but I’m afraid that you’ll have to wipe out a part of that debt. As members of the force, we—Malemute Slade and myself—have no right to accept anything at all. We’ve already been paid for any service we may have rendered you. It is a part of our regular duty.”
“If that’s the case, will you and Malemute Slade accept our thanks for all you’ve done for us,” blurted out Sandy.
“Gladly! It is nothing at all. We wish you every success in your new undertaking.”
“Thank you,” said Dick and Sandy in unison.
A short silence ensued. Presently Sandy walked over to the grub-sack and stooped down to untie the string.
“I’m hungry as a bear,” he grumbled. “It’s getting so there’s no system around this camp. Who’s cook?”