As he spoke, Dick reached in his pocket and pulled out the roll of bills Factor MacLean had given him on the day of their departure from Fort du Lac, and, counting out the sum mentioned, passed it over to Raoul.
“I hope I’m not cheating you.”
“You buy best dog team in the country,” Toma stated enthusiastically. “Mounted police use ’em last winter to carry mail. Govereau go fast to catch us now.”
“How long will it take us to reach mounted police headquarters?” inquired Sandy.
“Three, four day if nothing happen,” their guide answered. “First day snow too heavy to make trail good. After that mebbe get better.”
A short time later, a low groan from Watson attested to the fact that that gentleman was slowly regaining consciousness. After considerable tossing and rolling about, their captive finally opened his eyes and presently called for a drink of water.
“Feeling better now?” Dick inquired solicitously, when he complied with the request.
“Yeah, I’m feeling better,” came Watson’s smothered retort as he glared up angrily at his questioner. “I’m feelin’ a blamed sight better than you’ll be feelin’ in another day or two, I can tell you that.”
“You brought it all on yourself,” Dick reminded him. “You had no business coming here to play the part of a spy, in the first place. If you got hurt, it’s your own fault. All I’m sorry about is that the unpleasant little blow you received on top of your head wasn’t given to the man who sent you.”
“What do you mean?” bluffed Watson.