"Why, no. Fact is, old Pete has been working thirty-five years, with his faithful eyes shining behind that hair—it's silver now, eh? Well, I couldn't leave him in the lurch. And there's the Hudson's Bay to consider, with forts up north depending on us for supplies. And I suppose, when I come to think of it, I'm rather proud of the outfit. So, in my sentimental way, I made a deed by which Pete is managing owner, with a half-interest, while Polly is sleeping partner with no right to interfere."
"You've told Pete?"
"No. I suppose I've got to own up?"
"You don't want Pete to be cheated by his partners."
"You're right. Just open my desk and look inside. It's the paper on top."
I found and read the deed.
"You've read it, of course," I said.
"It was read to me by the lawyer chap. Isn't it all right?"
"Oh, yes," I managed to say, "it's all right—such funny legal jargon."
I looked at the names of the witnesses, Cultus McTavish and Low-lived Joe, the worst characters in our district. The document read to the old blind man had been no doubt destroyed. The deed actually signed made Polly sole owner of the famous pack-train. My friend had been cheated.