“That’s far enough!” Dick’s clear voice rang out in the icy air, as the rifle came to his shoulder. He was sure the three outlaws meant no good, and made sure he had some advantage if it came to open hostilities.
The white man paused and scowled. “Think y’r pretty sly, eh! I guess I oughta agreed with Mistak ’bout puttin’ you yonkers out of business while we had the chance.”
“It happens I overheard you talking to Mistak about that when you thought Sandy and I were asleep in the igloo. You suggested we be put with Corporal Thalman,” Dick replied sternly.
The white man started visibly. “Thalman!” his voice came hoarsely from his bearded lips. “What do you yonkers know ’bout Thalman?” There was plain menace in the man’s attitude now.
Dick was almost on the point of blurting out some valuable information, when he caught himself.
“Nothing,” he answered reservedly, “only the Mounted Police are looking for—er—his body.”
“I reckon that’s all they’ll find, an’ it’s pretty doubtful if they find that,” sneered Mistak’s man, seeming relieved that the boys apparently had no specific knowledge of Corporal Thalman’s fate.
Had the man dreamed of the manuscript that had floated into Sandy’s hands, of the map now reposing in Dick’s pocket, he probably would have signaled his companions to attack then and there. But he did not.
“You fellers ain’t goin’ to let us go away empty handed,” the outlaw resumed, wheedlingly, looking hungrily at the five dead musk-oxen.
“Shall we let them have some meat?” Dick asked Sandy, without taking his eyes from the outlaws, who were also covered by the rifles of Sandy and Toma.