His good-natured levity jarred upon Alec.
“Shut up, Billy!” he exclaimed irritably. “I’m going to get my knife and scrape away this charred wood. Will you fellows help me fix it nicely? Just for appearance’s sake, you know.”
“Never mind it. How fussy you are, Alec!” remarked the unsuspecting Billy. “Let it go. I’m too sleepy. Come along, Hugh. Me for my little bunk!”
When the two Wolves went back to their lair, Alec followed them, on a pretense of having abandoned his idea of subterfuge. He saw that Hugh disapproved of it, and he resented that attitude.
Bidding them good-night, he hurried to his locker, got out his favorite claspknife, and returned to the mess-cabin, upon which he at once began to work, whittling off the burnt and half-burnt wood.
In the midst of this occupation, he heard the same stealthy footsteps, and, looking up, saw Joe, the half breed, standing beside him.
The grin that distorted Joe’s features made his splendid white teeth fairly gleam in the moonlight.
“Me know wot you do dere,” he said softly. “Me hear wot you say to Hugh Hardeen. Why you say eet, boy?”
Alec gave an uncomfortable start.
“You won’t tell on me, Joe?” he asked, with a laugh of pure bravado. “You’re a pretty good friend of mine, aren’t you?”