He turned at last to the horses grazing with their mouths full of cumbersome bits, and their forelegs entangled in trailing reins. Then the red coat of the second policeman obtruded itself, and he considered the murdered man. It was at that moment he became aware of movement in the bush behind the hay. And he turned to discover Pideau’s dark face thrust beyond it, peering.
It was the cue which brought the boy to sharp decision. This time, with a jerk, he flung the breech of his rifle open and emptied its magazine of cartridges. Then, his tall body erect he moved out from his cover, and advanced towards the man to whom his loyalty, if not his affection, was bound.
Pideau was gazing down at the dead man on the hay. His brutish face expressed no emotion whatever, not even satisfaction. His gimlet eyes were fiercely bright and evil. That was all. He stooped, caught the body in his strong arms, and flung it over in the same rough fashion which he might have used in handling a heavy sack.
Lying face upwards the body revealed the thing the slayer sought. There it was. A minute puncture in the red jacket, with the dark ooze of blood staining the scarlet cloth. Pideau sucked in a breath of extreme satisfaction. It was a shot of which he felt he could be reasonably proud.
“A swell shot, Pideau.”
The half-breed straightened up with a jerk. He swung about to look into the smiling eyes of the Wolf. He stared, startled beyond words. Then, in a moment, fury leaped.
“You?” he cried fiercely. Then, with malevolent savagery: “You—you spyin’ swine! I’ll kill you!”
Pideau’s rifle came up with his threat. Murder, more murder, was in his gimlet eyes. The dusky flush of his cheeks further added to his threat.
The Wolf remained unmoved. He simply shook his head.
“You’d be crazy to make a third killing, Pideau,” he said, ignoring the gun, but remaining watchful. “You need help. My help—now. You’ve killed two red-coats, an’—more’ll come.”