"Nobody don' nevaire catch dat man," he observed. "Ferguson mooch too smart; he got de heart lak wan black fox. De fellow w'at goin' git de bes' of heem mus' spik wit' le diable, yes!"
"Faith," Burke laughed, "he'd be spakin' wid his-self 'cause it's the divil in per-rson is me frind Black Ferguson. Oi clapped eyes on him wanst at Montreal."
"What did he look like, Terence?" asked Pete Connear. Even as the Factor, none of the other men had seen the troublesome Nor'wester at close range. The nearest vision they had had of him was in the gun-smoke of a skirmish or in the semi-darkness of a midnight raid.
"Fair as a Dane wid the same blue eyes," the Irishman answered.
"Listen till that, would ye!" cried Stewart. "An' why maun they gae callin' him 'Black' Ferguson?"
"Hees soul," explained Dreaulond tersely. "Everyt'ing dis man do be black as diable. Tak' more dan wan t'ousand pries' confess heem out of hell!"
"Kind of brother to Captain Kidd, or a cousin of old Morgan's, eh!" remarked Pete Connear. "Pretty figure to have leading the other side. I'd think the Nor'west Company would put a decent man in charge."
"He's just the sort they want," Dunvegan declared. "They know they're beyond their rights and trespassing on ours. They want a man who will stop at nothing. In Black Ferguson they have him!"
Even as Dunvegan finished speaking a scuffle arose at the door.
"What's that?" the chief trader demanded.