The young guide came to at the application of a little water. His head had been struck with something; an overturned chair revealed what the escaped Indian had probably used.
“He slip out ropes some way,” Toma explained when he could sit up once more. “I watch door when him jump on me. That all I know.”
“I’m glad you’re alive—that’s all I can say,” Dick said thankfully.
“Hello, what’s this?” Sandy hurried from the fireplace where he had been warming himself to the crude wooden table. A slip of paper with writing on it lay among the scattered playing cards. Dick also hastened forward and read the roughly scrawled words:
Pierre Govereau:
Send Many-Scar Jackson and Swede to Big John Toma’s cabin. We want the black fox fur he has hidden there.
BEAR HENDERSON.
Dick and Sandy read it aloud to Toma.
“This my big brother’s cabin,” Toma explained simply. “Last night I see no one when look in window. I go in. That Many-Scar and other fella come in, ketch me. I not know where Big John is. They not find um black fox. Big John sell um black fox t’ree weeks go by.”
Dick and Sandy dropped their eyes. They now felt sure who the man was that Dick had fallen over—the dead man. How could they tell Toma? At last Dick took the guide’s arm. Silently they went out, Sandy following.
Toma showed no emotion as they showed him the body partly covered with snow. He might have been a wooden image as he said quietly:
“Him Big John Toma; I know before I see. I feel he dead. That Many-Scar——” something choked off his voice. His dark eyes suddenly flashed and glowed like coals of fire.