"I know not; belike he will take her for his squaw, or wherefore should he pay so great a price?"
Bènard looked at Stane. "Dere ees nothing more dat he can tell. I sure of dat, an' we waste time."
"Yes! Let him go."
The trapper nodded and then addressed the Indian once more. "Thou wilt go back to thy lodge now, but this is not the end. For the evil that hath been done the price will have to be paid. Later the men of the law, the riders-of-the-plains, will come and thee they will take——"
"It is Chigmok, my sister's son, who planned——"
"But it is thee they will take for punishment and Chigmok also. Now go!"
Chief George waited for no second bidding, but began to shamble off across the snow towards his encampment. The two men watched him go, in silence for a little time, and then Stane spoke.
"This lake of the Little Moose, where is it?"
"About sixteen miles to zee East. It ees known to me. A leetle lak' desolate as hell, in zee midst of hills. We weel go there, an' find dis white man an' Mees Yardely."
"We must make speed or the man may be gone," responded Stane.