As Dunvegan's craft met the other almost bow to bow and slipped ahead, the gunwales grated gently. Bruce closed a hand on the gunwales of the other and the two canoes drifted as one.
The sandy-haired man's semi-humorous eyes flashed a quick look aboard, and then he smiled. "You sure couldn't do that, stranger, if my pardner and me hadn't decided to speak to you," he observed.
"Couldn't I?" challenged Dunvegan. He scrutinized men and outfit. "Free traders, I suppose?"
"Guess again."
"Nor'westers, eh?"
"You got another guess coming yet."
"Oh, quit it, Granger," the black-bearded man broke in, stirring impatiently among the dunnage bags. "You're wasting time. Show him the star."
The sandy-haired one twisted his suspender band. Dunvegan saw the badge of a United States Marshal.
"It's genuine, stranger. And we're sure not here for our health. Are we, Garfield?"
"No," growled the black-bearded marshal. "A show-down's the thing that we're after."