Kars nodded.
"I'm feeling that way—too."
"You couldn't feel otherwise."
"I wasn't thinking of your yarn, Bill," Kars said quickly. "It's something else. That feller's shipped in a thousand rifles, and a big lot of ammunition. I lit on it through John Dunne. What's he want 'em for? I've been asking myself that ever since. He don't need a thousand rifles for trade."
It was Bill's turn for inquiry. It came with a promptness that suggested his estimation of the importance of the news.
"What is it?" he demanded.
"Is he going to wipe out the Bell River outfit?" Kars' eyes regarded his friend steadily.
For some moments no further word was spoken. Each was contemplating the ruthless purpose of a man who contemplated wiping out a tribe of savages to suit his own sordid ends. It was almost unbelievable. Yet a thousand rifles for a small trading post. It was the number which inspired the doubt.
It was Kars who finally broke the silence. He left his seat on the table and stood again at the window with his back turned.
"Guess we best leave it at that," he said.