All the dignity and formality of an Indian pow-wow were banished in a moment. The interpreter conveyed the briefest gist of the white man's words, even as he hastily scrambled to his feet. Kars' tone and manner had impressed him as forcibly as his words. He was eager enough to get away. The old man, too, was on his feet far quicker than might have been expected, and he was making for the door with ludicrous haste, which robbed his going of any of the ceremony with which he had entered it.
Charley stood aside, but with an air of protest. He would willingly have robbed the old man of his last remaining locks.
The hut was cleared, and the white men emerged into the open. The air which still reeked of burning was preferable to the unwholesome stench which these bestial northern Indians exhaled.
They stood watching the precipitate retreat of their visitors. The whole camp was agog, and looked on curiously. Even the Indian packmen were stirred out of their usual indifference to things beyond their labors.
Bill laughed as the old man vanished beyond the piles of pay dirt, which had been converted into defences.
"Guess he's worried some," he said.
Abe Dodds chewed and spat.
"Worried? Gee, that don't say a thing—not a thing. Guess that old guy ain't had a shake up like that since he first choked himself with gravel when his momma wa'n't around. I allow Louis Creal, whoever he is, is going to get an earful that'll nigh bust his drums."
But Kars had no responsive smile.
"They'll be on us by nightfall," he said quietly. "We need to get busy." Then he suddenly called out. His voice was stern and threatening. "Quit that, Charley! Quit it or by——!"