But the Wolf refused to be drawn again. He shrugged.
“I don’t care what Pideau says. He’s a liar, anyway. And a thief, too! He’s thinkin’ of quittin’.”
Annette forgot the dogs. She forgot her fishing. She dropped the line she was holding, and, with it, the fly she treasured. She eyed the boy for a thoughtful moment. Then:
“Who’s the liar now?” she cried, but with a quick look of doubt flashing in her big eyes.
“Only Pideau,” the Wolf grinned.
Annette turned away to the distance. She was disturbed. Her child’s mind knew only the mountains. They were her whole world. She was part of them. And the thought of quitting her beloved playground was devastating.
“Pideau wouldn’t quit,” she argued. “He’s safe here. He’s doing swell. He said so. Why’d he quit, anyway?”
“Cos he’s scairt. He reckons the p’lice’ll get him soon. They’re hot on his trail. He figgers they’ll get his tracks in a while, an’ then——”
The Wolf broke off with a look of profound meaning, and the girl was impressed. But her fear passed as she considered the source of her information. Her scorn leaped again.
“Guess you like to think Pideau’ll get trailed by the p’lice,” she sneered. “Maybe you’d set them wise. It was a bad day Luana brought you. You’d be dead, starved, if it wasn’t for Pideau. Yet you hate him. You’re a skunk. A cur like—like them,” she flung at him, nodding at his howling dogs. “You ken shoot quicker than Pideau! Psha! I tell you Pideau’ll beat the life out of you when he comes, an’ I tell him the things you said.”