Rogers was saying: “I got as much to say about this as any one.”
Basil lowered at him with sour hatred. “You? Who the hell are you? You ain't got a dollar in the outfit!”
“I got what counts for money,” answered Rogers, and shook his fist in Basil's face.
“What's the matter, Basil?” demanded the Landrays in a breath.
The fur trader smiled rather sheepishly. “It's this fool, Rogers,” he began sullenly.
“Oh, go to hell!” interrupted Rogers. He pointed to the three silent figures on horseback and cried fiercely: “This half-breed outfit's his!”
“Easy!” said the uniformed stranger, with a light, good-natured laugh. “I'm no half-breed, and I'm just mighty glad to see you white folks!”
“And who are you?” demanded Stephen.
“It's too bad, Cap, but I came off in such a hurry I clean left my kyards behind, but if you'll take my word for it, Raymond's my name.” He leaned slightly toward Stephen as he spoke, with an air of winning candour. “I'm real put out that yonder party's so upset.” He spoke with grave concern. “Yes, sir, real put out.”
“But who are you? And what are you doing here?”