"It's true, Miss; he's accused of knowin' all about it, even if he didn't help. It's supposed to be his Kootenai friends that did it, and they say he's mighty close-mouthed over it; that tells against him. I hope to God it ain't true, for he seemed a mighty good man; but he's under guard at the camp; won't allow folks to see him, I hear—leastwise, no Injuns."
Rachel glanced at the others, but found in their faces no strong partisanship for Genesee. Tillie and Fred were regretful, but not hopeful.
"It seems a shame that such a fine-looking fellow should be a squaw man," said the Major's daughter; "but since he is one, there is not much to be hoped of him, though papa did have a wonderful lot of faith in this one."
Rachel's eyes lightened at the words. "What day do they look for your father back?" she asked quickly.
"To-day or to-morrow, though this snow may hinder them some."
"Well, he can't get here any too soon," chipped in the loquacious Jim. "I reckon they—"
Then his discourse was cut short by the toe of Andrews' boot under the table. Although the horse-stealing was known at the ranch, and now the suspicion of Genesee, yet there was one thing that Andrews and Ivans had maneuvered to keep quiet, and that was the absence of Hardy and Stuart, and the fact that hostile Indians had descended from the hills.
Apocryphal stories had been told Tillie of an early supper her husband and guest had eaten at camp, and a ride they had taken after stock overlooked the night before; and the hours dragged on, the night came, and the two conspirators were gaining themselves the serious anxiety they had endeavored to shield the women from, and Jim, once outside the door, was threatened with instant annihilation if he let his tongue run so far ahead of his wit again.
The ladies had decided not to tell Rachel about Genesee—Tillie had so clear a remembrance of her stubborn friendliness for that outlaw; but Jim had settled the question of silence, and all the weariness dropped from her at thought of what that accusation meant to him—death. Once she got up with the strong light of hope in her eyes, and running across the snow in the dark, opened the door of the stable where Jim was bedding the horses.
"Jim!" she called sharply; "when was it the stock was run off from camp—what time?"