The doctor’s eyes hardened.
“I believe you would.”
“Would? Sure! It’s their funeral.”
“Yes.”
Fraser glanced down the store. It was not really any matter of drink that had brought him there.
“I’m wondering about that bright police boy across the way,” he said abruptly. “When’s he going to pull you and your Wolf partner?”
Pideau looked up. He shot a swift glance into the serious eyes watching him.
“Never,” he growled shortly.
“No? You’re wrong,” Fraser went on contemplatively. “He’ll pull your Wolf anyway. He’s hot on the work. He’s looking for quick promotion. And he sees it in your Wolf, and his ‘homebrew.’ That boy’s yearning.”
Fraser eyed the unlovely creature behind his counter. He had no liking for the half-breed. He understood him too well. But he was not thinking of Pideau. He was not even thinking of the Wolf. He was thinking of the girl he had seen talking out there in the cold, dallying with the man, Sinclair, over the fence. And she was the sole cause of his visit to the store.