Pideau’s gun lowered. It was a hardly perceptible movement. But the quick eyes of the boy saw it, and he snatched his advantage.
“I ain’t spyin’,” he went on quietly. “I don’t have to spy on you, Pideau. I’ve no need. I came right here because my crazy dogs led me this way. They hit a trail. I guessed it to be a wolf trail. But it wasn’t. It was Rene. Maybe she figgered you’d need my help.”
“You’re lyin’!”
Pideau’s snarl was ugly enough. But his anger was abating, and the Wolf realized it.
“No,” he said. “I haven’t need to lie, either.” He glanced significantly down at the body of the dead policeman. Then he looked at the corrals behind him. And farther on at the grazing horses, and the other of Pideau’s victims. “Not till more police get around, anyway.”
Pideau’s gun had come to rest with its butt on the ground.
“What d’you mean?” he cried roughly. “Ther’ ain’t more red-coats to come. Ther’s only them two on Maple Coulee post. An’,” he laughed harshly, “they’re both mutton dead.”
“Sure.” The Wolf’s gaze came back to the gloating face of the man who was the father of Annette. “They’re dead. That’s the reason more’ll come. The red-coats don’t let up. That’s how you always say. We got to make it so ther’s no trail for them to hunt. We got to make it so they think these boys have just quit. Maybe lit out across the border. An’ we can do it.”
The half-breed’s face was a study. As the boy talked, his smiling eyes containing nothing but seeming good humor, the man’s eyes lost their cruel sparkle. The flush of fury completely faded from his cheeks. Surprise, and then amazed incredulity took possession of him. In the end there was the dawning of satisfaction on his unsmiling face.
“How?” he asked, with a contempt that could not conceal his curiosity.