"I 'member."
"Where did you go?"
Constantine shifted his walrus-soled boots. "What for you ask?"
"Never mind! Where did you go when you left the house?"
"Me go Indian village. What for you ask?"
"Nothing. Only—if you ever have any trouble with Mr. Marsh, I may be able to help you. I like you—and I don't like him."
The breed grunted unintelligibly, and was about to leave when Boyd reached forth suddenly and plucked the fellow's sheath-knife from its scabbard. With a startled cry, Constantine whirled, his face convulsed, his nostrils dilated like those of a frightened horse; but Emerson merely fingered the weapon carelessly, remarking:
"That is a curious knife you have. I have noticed it several times." He eyed him shrewdly for a moment, then handed the blade back with a smile. Constantine slipped it into its place, and strode away without a word.
It was considerably later in the day when Boyd discovered the Indians to whom he had given the note talking excitedly on the dock. Seeing Constantine in argument with them, he approached to demand an explanation, whereupon the quarter-breed held out a silver dollar in his palm with the words:
"These men say this money no good."