"Why, then, I'll tell you to keep an eye on Whaley. He doesn't love you a whole lot for what you did, and he's liable to do you up first chance he gets."
"I'm not lookin' for trouble, but if Whaley wants a fight—"
"He doesn't—not your kind of a fight. His idea will be to have you foul before he strikes. Walk with an eye in the back of your head. Sleep with it open, Don't sit at windows after lamps are lit—not without curtains all down. Play all your cards close." The red-coat spoke casually, slapping his boot with a small riding-switch. He was smiling. None the less Tom knew he was in dead earnest.
"Sounds like good advice. I'll take it," the trader said easily.
"Anything more on your chest?"
"Why, yes. Where did Whaley go to-day? What called him out of town on a hurry-up trip of a few hours?"
"Don't know. Do you?"
"No, but I'm a good guesser."
"Meanin'?"
"Bully West. Holed up somewhere out in the woods. A fellow came in this morning and got Whaley, who snowshoed back with him at once."
Tom nodded agreement. "Maybeso. Whaley was away five or six hours.
That means he probably traveled from eight to ten miles out."