The half-breed’s question came in a tone that conveyed no welcome.
The Wolf looked up from the granulated tobacco he was rolling into a cigarette.
“Five hundred gallons,” he said.
He spoke quietly, and his eyes wore their unmeaning smile as he twisted the ends of his paper and set his cigarette between his lips.
Pideau breathed deeply. In a flash his whole expression had transformed. Greed, incredulity, even satisfaction, had replaced the look he had worn at Fraser’s going.
“Fi’ hundred gallons!” he echoed. Then came the inevitable. “You’re lyin’! You couldn’t make it in the time!”
The Wolf moved away. He stood himself over against the stove, and lit his cigarette.
The Wolf was good to look at. His hard, rough clothing and well-worn, fur-lined pea-jacket gave him an air. He looked capacity, energy, resolve, in every line of figure and feature.
He had fulfilled his early promise. In manhood he was superbly grown. He was big. He was large of bone and muscle, yet of a slim grace that suggested almost feline activity. His face was clean-cut without great beauty. His nose was too Indian in its sharp aquilinity. His cheek bones were a shade too prominent. But his expression more than compensated. His dark eyes contained the wonderful smile which Nature had fixed there when she moulded them.
He stood regarding his partner behind the counter. And Pideau returned his look with eyes that shone inscrutably. The Wolf’s announcement was incredible to him because of his desire that it should be true.