ou're not talking straight, babe," said I. "You know Cameron doesn't
nag his men. What did _you_ do it for?"

"Eh?" and the lad gave a laugh over my challenge of his veracity. "See
here, old pal, I'll tell you if you tell me."

"Go ahead with your end of the contract!"

"Well, then, look here. We're not in this wilderness for glory. I knock
down to the highest bidder----"

"Hudson's Bay is _not_ the highest bidder."

"Not unless you happen to have information they want."

"Oh! That's the way of it, is it?" So the boy was selling Nor'-Westers'
secrets.

"You can bet your last beaver-skin it is! Do you think I was old
Cam's private secretary for nothin'? Not I! I say--get your wares
as you may and sell 'em to the highest bidder. So here I am, snugly
berthed, with nothing to do but twiddle my thumbs, all through
judicious--distribution--of--information." And the boy gurgled with
pleasure over his own cleverness. "And say, Gillespie, I'm in regular
clover! The Little Statue's here, all alone! Dad's gone to Pembina to
the buffalo hunt. I've got ahead of all you fellows. I'm going to
introduce a French-chap, a friend of mine."

"You'd much better break his bones," was my advice. It needed no great
speculation to guess who the Frenchman was; and in the hands of that
crafty rake this prattling babe would be as putty.

"Pah! You're jealous, Gillespie! We're right on the inside track!"

"Lots of confidential talks with her, I suppose?"

"Talks! Pah! You gross fatty! Why, Gillespie, what do you know of such
things? Laplante can win a girl by just looking at her--French way, you
know--he can pose better than a poem!"

"Blockhead," I ground out between my teeth, a feeling taking possession
of me, which is designated "indignation" in the first person but
jealousy in the second and third. "You stupid simpleton, that Laplante
is a villain who will turn your addled pate and work you as an old wife
kneads dough."

"What do you know about Laplante?" he demanded hotly.

"I know he is an accomplished blackguard," I answered quietly, "and if
you want to spoil your chances with the Little Statue, just prance round
in his company."

The lad was too much surprised to speak.

"Where's Hamilton?" I asked.

"Find him for yourself," said he, going off in a huff.

I edged cautiously near enough the wounded man to see that he was not
Hamilton. Near the litter was a group of clerks.

"They're fools," one clerk was informing the