k
squarely into the muzzle of Corporal Ripley's service revolver, while
Constable Craig loosened the pack straps and allowed Xavier to arise.

"Caught with the goods, eh?" grinned Ripley, when the two prisoners
were seated side by side upon the pole bunk.

The sullen-faced Xavier glowered in surly silence, but the malignant,
beady eyes of Du Mont regarded the officer keenly. "You patrol de
Clearwater now, eh?"

Ripley laughed. "When there's anything doin' we do."

"How you fin' dat out? Dem Injun she squeal? I'm lak' to know 'bout
dat."

"Well, it wasn't exactly an Indian this time," answered Ripley; "that
is, it wasn't a regular Indian. Pierre Lapierre put us on to this
little deal."

"_Pierre_--LAPIERRE!"

The little wizened man fairly shrieked the name and, leaping to his
feet, bounded about the room like an animated rubber ball, while from
his lips poured a steady stream of vile epithets, mingled with every
curse and gem of profanity known to two languages.

"That's goin' some," enthused Constable Craig, when the other finally
paused for breath. "An' come to think about it, I believe you're
right. I like to hear a man speak his mind, an' from your remarks it
seems like you're oncommon peeved with this here little deal. It ain't
nothin' to get so worked up over. You'll serve your time an' in a
couple of years or so they'll turn you loose again."

At the mention of the prison term the burly Xavier moved uneasily upon
the bunk. He seemed about to speak, but was forestalled by the quicker
witted Du Mont.

"Two years, eh!" asked the outraged Metis, addressing Ripley. "Mebe so
you mak' w'at you call de deal. Mebe so I'm tell you who's de boss.
Mebe so I'm name de man dat run de wheeskey into de Nort'. De man dat
plans de cattle raids on de bordair. De man dat keels mor' Injun dan
mos' men keels deer, eh! Wat den? Mebe so den you turn us loose, eh?"

Ripley laughed. "You think I'm goin' to pay you to tell me the name of
the man we've already got locked up?"

"You got MacNair lock up," Du Mont leered knowingly. "_Bien_! You
t'ink MacNair run de wheeskey. But MacNair, she ain't run no wheeskey.
You mak' de deal wit' me. Ba Gos'! I'm not jus' tell you de name, I'm
tell you so you fin' w'at you call de proof! I no fin' de proof--you
no turn me loose. _Voila_!"

Corporal Ripley was a keen judge of men, and he knew that the
vindictive and outraged Metis was in just the right mood to tell