Koppy retaining the seat of state. Twenty-two vile-featured
conspirators gathered in solemn conclave.

A twenty-third, not so vile-featured but swarthier of skin, sank softly
against the logs at the rear of the shack, one ear pressed to a chink.

"You've gone the rounds?" demanded Koppy, probing each face in turn.

One of the men spoke hesitatingly: "Simoff's rifles gone. We find
place--all gone."

Koppy turned on him. "Sure?" He knew the craven hearts and beclouding
imaginations of these companions of his.

"We saw marks. It was the place."

The frown on their leader's forehead deepened, and for a long time he
was wrapped in thought. "Yours, too, Werner!" he muttered, shaking his
head.

Werner read censure into the three words. "That dirty redskin caught
me a clump on the coco from behind, and then a whole lot of Indians
jumped on me. See, there's the lump." He felt tenderly of the crown
of his head, but made no advance to enable his friends to verify his
claim; it was too sore for that. "I just dropped. When I came round,
the rifles were gone."

"You saw the Indian?"

"Sure I saw him." In time he recalled the darkness and added hastily,
"with my nose. You can't fool this guy when an Indian's within a mile.
I know when they're inside the township. I guess I ought to: I used to
steal with 'em, out further west, trapping we was--or stealing from the
other fellow's traps. Smell 'em? Well, I guess."

"Do you smell one now?" asked Koppy suddenly.

Twenty-one pair of eyes went swiftly to the window. Blue Pete, at his
chink behind the shack, held his ground, but his muscles were tense.

Werner grinned at the little joke.

"There ain't much chance to smell anything else with this bunk of yours
under my nose. When they burn this shack down--and they got to if
they're going to live in the country--somebody's going to be
asphyxiated. I hope I'm five hundred miles away about then."

Koppy, struggling with anger and scorn, frowned on the would-be
humourist, who hastily grinned.

"Course you know it's only a joke of mine, Koppy."

"Better so," returned the leader coldly. "Many Indians about?" He was
searching Werner's eyes. "You saw--or smelt them."

Werner wilted under that stare. Volubly he struggled to support his
story with convincing details, but his face was flushed and his eyes
were anywhere but on his leader's. And Koppy smiled inscrutably.

"Anyway, we still got ninety-two rifl