refused to see him and he was in no frame of mind for jest.
But Bub in his desire to arouse his companion did not hesitate to make use of Nick, and in a tantalizing treble sang out,
“Beaver, beaver, taking a nap,
Big Nick caught him in a trap,
Then came—”
But before the crude taunt could be completed the half-breed was galvanized into action, and with a guttural oath leaped towards the boy, with one bronzed fist drawn back for a smashing blow.
Bub’s face blanched and he jumped aside, tripped and fell. Instantly the infuriated guide was over him, one foot raised to stamp down into the upturned, terrified face.
Then the guide shot backward, and Stanley, who had stood as if petrified, beheld Wilson, the buyer, standing over the fallen boy.
“Want any more?” he muttered.
The guide crawled to his feet, one hand stealing to his belt.
“Drop it! Touch that knife and I’ll shoot you,” warned Wilson in a low, metallic voice.
Without a word Big Nick faced about and hurried away. Then Wilson caught Bub by the collar, not only to lift him to his feet, but
