mister," he
said. "I'm not denyin' that Redskins hunted on these yer lands
centuries 'fore the white man happened along. But that ain't got
nothin' t' do wi' you an' me to-day. You're trespassin' on private
property, an' you gotter quit, see? An' if you've bin layin' traps
around you kin just lift 'em an' take 'em along with you. This yer
forest, that thar lake, an' all the land as far's you kin see belongs
ter Lord St. Olave. And he don't allow no trespassers mouchin' around."

"Lord St. Olave?" The Indian pronounced the name with peculiar
distinctness. "Otherwise Kiddie," he added, resting a foot on the log,
but carefully avoiding the bear cub. "I have heard of him."

"Yes, an' seen him, too," rejoined Rube.

"Seen him? When?" questioned the Indian.

"Why," answered Rube, "you saw him pretty plain, I guess, the time he
dropped his lariat over your arms in One Tree Gulch. I suppose you
thinks I don't know you, eh? You're Broken Feather; that's who you
are. Broken Feather, the boss chief of the Injun village over thar.
An' now, what you want? What you doin' around here? Spyin' out the
lie o' the land fer future raids?"

"Surely I am at liberty to take interest in a neighbour's building
operations," returned the chief. He leant closer over the working
bench and gazed down at the architect's plan with renewed curiosity.
"This, I suppose, is the front entrance," he said.

He touched the paper at a particular part of the design, but quickly
drew his arm back. Rube heard him draw a deep breath, as if he were in
pain.

"Say, what's up?" the boy asked. "You took bad in th' inside?"

Instead of answering, Broken Feather turned sharply round. Abe Harum
was approaching, followed at some distance by Rube Carter's mother, who
carried a basket of food for the workers.

The Indian waited coolly, taking out a tobacco bag and a packet of
cigarette papers. Rube thought it curious that he did not make a
cigarette, but hesitatingly returned the material to his pocket, as if
on deliberation he had decided not to smoke.

"I see you got a visitor, Rube," said Abe, as he strode up. "How do,
Broken Feather! You still coveting that Arab mare?--wantin' to buy
her, since you couldn't steal her? Well, she ain't for sale."

"I was hoping to see Lord St. Olave," announced the chief. "I come to
pay a friendly call upon him. Why not?"

"Friendly?" Abe stared at him in amazement. "Say, you've got some
nerve t' c