Martin grinned across at him, a malevolent, maddening grin. It carried a challenge. Dick’s hand fluttered toward the butt of his revolver, but he caught himself in time.
“Lamont, I’m not fooling. I mean what I say. You’re leaving this party tonight when we make camp. I’ll give you enough rations to take you back to the Mackenzie.”
The guide’s eyes narrowed to two mere slits. There was something venomous, snake-like in his stare.
“I no go back to the Mackenzie,” he retorted quickly. “I go where I wish. That place I go is Keechewan Mission. How you think you stop me go there?”
“Go there, if you like, but you’ll not go with us.”
“Mebbe not,” said Lamont stubbornly. “We see about that.”
Dick left the man and hurried back to the head of the column. His face was grim and set as he rejoined Sandy and Dr. Brady. An angry flush had mounted to his cheeks. His fists were clenched so hard that the nails dug into the palms of his hands.
“Well,” said Sandy, his voice lowered and anxious, “what did he say? What is he going to do?”
Dick could not trust himself to speak. Rage had overcome him.
“I’ll show him! I’ll show him!” the words kept singing through his brain. “I’ll show him!” rang on the vengeful chant. “He’ll not make a fool of me. Guide—paugh! I’ll show him!”