Grant Simpson squirmed among the bear robes in a startled fashion, and his thin, effeminate face lost color.
"What do you mean?" he demanded, scanning Britton narrowly.
"Only this–if you dare show your nose on the Creek for any reason whatever, I'll tell the miners things that will make them swing you higher than Moosehide Mountain. Of course, Morris can't go in on any strike now. They wouldn't countenance it for a moment!"
Simpson's awe gave way to blind anger. He struck at Britton with his silver-mounted whip, to find it promptly torn from his grasp. Rex touched the grays on the flanks with it, and the team dashed down the Dawson trail with Simpson sawing on their heads. Britton laughed harshly as they went, and slowly broke the whip to bits.
"Simpson and Miss Vanderhart have given the chump a lift," said a miner, watching in the roadway.
Rex saw that the occupants of the sleigh had taken up Morris and concealed him among the fur robes.
"Who did you say?" he asked the miner.
"Simpson and Miss Vanderhart," the man repeated. "They're big guns at Dawson. Know them?"
Britton laughed again at the alias, as he scattered the whip fragments with his toe.
"Yes," he said meditatively, "I know something of them."