"What yeh goin' to do? Ain't them goods comin' this week? Somebody's blabbed. Me-Casto's been watchin' yeh mighty clost, lately. Perhaps it was him." "Perhaps," concurred the trader, looking at the disloyal trooper thoughtfully. "We kin only hope fer the best. Wild Cat Bill is bringin' it in, an' Scar Faced Charlie is drivin'. 'F they git a chance to _cache_ the stuff they will. Maybe," he concluded hopefully, "the detachment won't run across 'em, an' they'll fool the Police, with their little pill boxes stuck on three hairs." Meantime the mounted detail, with Me-Casto as scout, galloped past the lodge fires of the outlying Indians and pressed their way through a falling sleet with not a sound but the muffled thud of the horses' hoofs and the moan of the wind. The stars dimmed; the east lightened. In the early morning the troopers came to a small trading-post, where they saw a group of men awaiting their arrival. "I thought it was you, Danvers, the minute I piped yeh off!" Wild Cat Bill stepped forward as he spoke, and shook hands with the young trooper as cordially as if they were old friends. Bill breathed as though he had been running, but went on immediately: "We've come up here to see what the chances were fer wolfin' this winter. Here's Charlie, yeh see. What yeh out fer? Horse thieves?" Philip did not answer, as the officer in charge, singularly lacking in perspicacity, took it upon himself. "We are looking for smugglers," he frowned. "You haven't seen any loaded outfits headed this way from Fort Benton, have you?" "Nope!" Bill promptly answered. "We've been here two days, and nobody passed here--has they, Charlie?" The freighter confirmed Bill's assertion and the troopers were then ordered to stable their horses for an hour. "How is your sister, Charlie?" Danvers asked at his earliest opportunity. He was sorry to see the freighter, feeling something was amiss. "She's in the East, at boarding-school," answered Charlie. "I couldn't do by her as I should," he went on. "Fort Benton's no place to bring up Winnie." "Remember me to her when you write," said Danvers, walking his horse away as Charlie passed inside the trading-post. "What are yeh thinkin'?" whispered one of the detail in the dark of the stables as the horses were being fed. "Not much of anything," Danvers whispered back. "Yes, yeh are. Yeh know they's _cached_ whiskey somewhere around." Coming from the stables, Danvers passed the conspicuously empty wagons belonging to the Americans. He noticed that the pile of refuse near by was not covered with snow, although the stables had not been cleaned. Walking nearer, he detected a strong odor of whiskey rising from the wagon boxes. He remembered the sweat on the men's foreheads. Getting a stable fork he struck sharply into the compost. Something clinked. A quick throwing of the litter uncovered a case, such as was commonly used to convey liquor. As it was his duty, Danvers walked to the captain and saluted.