The spokesman blinked and backed away. Here was a turn of events neither he nor any of the others had anticipated. It made their position somewhat untenable. It required careful consideration—more discussion. Quickly he turned and broke forth in Cree. It volleyed from him. He punctuated his talk with rapid-fire gestures.
When he had completed his oration, a deep silence fell. It was an angry silence. The half-breed drivers glowered.
“Well, what’s your decision?” Dick spoke sharply.
Fontaine was coldly deliberate.
“We eight men against four. We no go on. Fellows get supplies an’ start back to Fort Mackenzie.”
Dick was astounded. He looked up appealingly at Dr. Brady, his pulses quickening. He observed that Sandy’s hands trembled. A sudden movement among the dog drivers attracted his attention. All of them had started forward menacingly, then as quickly fell back. For a brief moment Dick wondered at this hesitancy on their part, but catching sight of Toma, the truth of the situation flashed over him. That young man stood, fondling an ugly-looking revolver, his eyes defying them to come on.
Sandy was quick to see their temporary advantage, and he, too, whipped out his gun. The mutinous dog drivers attempted to slink away, but Dick perceived their little ruse and stopped them peremptorily:
“No, you don’t. Stay right where you are until I relieve you of your guns.”
Three of the men carried revolvers, while all of them possessed knives. He quickly secured all these, placing them on one of the sleighs. Then, while Sandy and Toma kept the men covered, he and Dr. Brady hurried over to the tents and sledges, returning with three rifles and four more revolvers.
“Quite an arsenal,” puffed Dr. Brady.