"Well, Jack," he said, shaking his head, "I didn't think it of you—I didn't indeed. A skunk like that! a woman-shooter, and a Frenchman! You didn't use to be like this."
"We're quits now, him and me," answered Mills. "He saved my life, and I'm satisfied. So if you've got anything to say—or do—then get it over."
Charley burst out at this in a fuss of anger. "You ought to be shot," he shouted. "That's all you're fit for."
"Charley's right," growled one of the others.
"Oh, cut it off," cried Dave impatiently; "we're not going to shoot
Jack. But I guess we won't say we've lost the Frenchman yet."
He lowered his brows and turned his eyes on Mills.
"You an' him's quits, Jack," he said. "What do you think about it?"
Mills looked up slowly, like a man newly awaked from a dream.
"You might get a shot at him from the path," he answered musingly.
"That is, if he's keeping north. I'll show you the place."
"You don't think we'd have a chance of catching him?"