the newcomers with a thick-lipped, vacuous grin. Connie wasted no time:
"Where are those Indians?" he jerked out, sharply.
"Wot Injuns—yer mean them Brushwoods up ther crick?"
"You know what Indians! Come, I'm not here to fool with you! Speak up—or you'll wish you had!"
The smile left the man's face and he glanced uneasily from the trim figure in uniform to the two prospectors. Then his lips moved and he growled an answer: "Passed here at sun-up."
"What did they camp here for? Where are they heading for? And why did they leave you alone?" The questions came hard, and quick—like shots from an automatic.
The man answered in confusion: "Camped here to trade. Why shouldn't they leave me 'lone—wash y'u mean, leave 'lone, anyhow? They went Dn down the crick. They camped here to trade, wash y'u s'pose"
"Trade what?"
"Trade—wash y'u s'pose, trade? I got a tradin' license, ain't I?"
