gures.

Joe found them talking about the night before, with references to Sam
in no friendly strain. Joe had the wit to conceal from them a part of
the rage that was consuming him, though it was not easy to do so. He
sat down in the background, and for the most part kept his mouth shut.
Anything that anybody could say against Sam was meat and drink to him.

"Blest if I can see what the girl sees in him," said Mahooley. "There
are better men for her to pick from."

"He's spoiled our fun, damn him!" said another. "The place won't be
the same again."

"Who is this fellow Sam?" asked one of the newcomers.

"A damn ornery little cook who's got his head swole," muttered Joe.

"He kept his place till he got a team to drive," said Mattison.

"We kep' him in it, you mean."

"What for did you want to give him the job of teaming, Mahooley?"
asked Mattison.

"Matter of business," replied the trader carelessly. "He was on the
spot."

"Well, you can get plenty more now. Why not fire him?"

Mahooley looked a little embarrassed.

"Business is business," he said. "I don't fancy him myself, but he's
working all right."

Joe's perceptions were sharpened by hate. He saw Mahooley's
hesitation, and began speculating on what reason the trader could have
for not wanting to discharge Sam. He scented a mystery. Casting back
in his mind, he began to fit a number of little things together.

Once, he remembered, somebody had told Mahooley one of the black
horses had gone lame, and Mahooley had replied unthinkingly that it
was not his concern. Why had he said that? Was somebody besides
Mahooley backing Sam? If he could explode the mystery, maybe it would
give him a handle against his rival.

"Well, I shouldn't think you'd let an ex-cook put it all over you,"
remarked the stranger.

This was too much for Joe's self-control. A dull, bricky flush crept
under his skin.

"Put it over nothing!" he growled. "You come over to Bela's to-night
if you want to see how I handle a cook!"

"Who is the old guy camped beside Bela's shack?" asked the stranger.

"Musq'oosis, a kind of medicine man of her tribe," answered Mahooley.

"Is he her father?"

"No; her father was a white man."

"Who was he?" Joe asked.

Mahooley shrugged. "Search me! Long before my time."

"If old Musq'oosis is no relation, what does he hang around for?"
asked the first questioner.

"Oh, he's always kind of looked after her," said Mahooley. "The other
Indians