“Certain, sure. That feller’s a good policeman but that’s all. He’s tough on dames. Doesn’t it worry you seeing a girl kid of yours standing over a fence, on a cold winter day, dallying with him? If I was a father, with a girl of mine falling for that boy, I’d get the best shotgun dollars could buy, and all the shells belonging to it. You’re taking a big chance. A hell of a chance. I just hate to see it. She’s a kid. She’s a babe—in a way.”
Fraser paused, and thrust his cap back from his brow. He saw the fierce smoulder in Pideau’s eyes.
“Say,” he went on, “I said Sinclair was tough on dames. It’s not enough. There was Molly Gros. You remember. I had to bring her kid into the world for her. She was a half-breed and a goodlooker. But nothing to your swell girl. Poor little devil, she never opened her mouth. She quit without giving him away. I did my best to make her talk. I’d have had him up to Calford and seen he got his promotion in the neck. The swine! But she wouldn’t say. She was all for him. And now she’s traipsing the world with his kid, deserted, alone. Tcha! It sets me crazy thinking. If Annette belonged me I’d see he didn’t get within ten miles of her.”
Pideau leaned over his counter. His eyes were hot as they looked up into the doctor’s face.
“If she belonged you, doc, you’d jest have to stand around cursin’ the p’lice the same as me, an’ leavin’ it there,” he snarled. “Without that shotgun a fool father don’t cut ice. Annette? When that kid’s on the jump ther’ ain’t the man born who could hold her.”
“Not even the Wolf, if he stopped around instead of making poison up in the hills?”
Pideau’s gaze broke away.
“The Wolf might keep her clear of Sinclair,” Fraser persisted.
“You think so?” Pideau shook his head decidedly. “I’d be glad for someone else to do it tho’.” Then his manner became eager. “You see, I ken fix her good—dollars.”
There was no mistaking his meaning. The doctor suddenly slid himself from the counter and hastily began to fasten his coat. Pideau watched him for a moment or two, and the eagerness died out of him. He turned to his shelves, and the back of his bullet head, with its coarse black hair growing low on the nape of his neck, came under the other’s consideration.