"W'en dose Injun is stan' heem in de moonlight, Dick Henderson is see hees face. Dick Henderson is know all dose Injun. He is tole me dat Injun is not Peace Reever Injun. Dick Henderson is say dose Injun is Ojibway Injun--Ojibway Injun two t'ousand mile wes'--on Peace Reever! Dat's curi's!" "I was tell you nodder story--" went on Achille, after a moment. "Never mind," interrupted the Trader. "I believe you." "Maybee," said Achille cheerfully, "you stan' some show--not moche--eef he sen' you out pret' queeck. Does small _perdrix_ is yonge, an' dose duck. Maybee you is catch dem, maybee you is keel dem wit' bow an' arrow. Dat's not beeg chance. You mus' geev dose _coureurs de bois_ de sleep w'en you arrive. _Voila_, I geev you my knife!" He glanced rapidly to right and left, then slipped a small object into the stranger's hand. "_Ba_, I t'ink does ole man is know dat. I t'ink he kip you here till tam w'en dose _perdrix_ and duck is all grow up beeg' nuff so he can fly." "I'm not watched," said the young man in eager tones; "I'll slip away to-night." "Dat no good," objected Picard. "W'at you do? S'pose you do dat, dose _coureurs_ keel you _toute suite_. Dey is have good excuse, an' you is have nothing to mak' de fight. You sleep away, and dose ole man is sen' out plaintee Injun. Dey is fine you sure. _Ba_, eef he _sen'_ you out, den he sen' onlee two Injun. Maybee you fight dem; I don' know. _Non, mon ami_, eef you is wan' get away w'en dose ole man he don' know eet, you mus' have dose carabine. Den you is have wan leetle chance. _Ba_, eef you is not have heem dose carabine, you mus' need dose leetle grub he geev you, and not plaintee Injun follow you, onlee two." "And I cannot get the rifle." "An' dose ole man is don' sen' you out till eet is too late for mak' de grub on de fores'. Dat's w'at I t'ink. Dat ees not fonny for you." Ned Trent's eyes were almost black with thought. Suddenly he threw his head up. "I'll make him send me out now," he asserted confidently. "How you mak' eet him?" "I'll talk turkey to him till he's so mad he can't see straight. Then maybe he'll send me out right away." "How you mak' eet him so mad?" inquired Picard, with mild curiosity. "Never you mind--I'll do it." "_Ba oui_," ruminated Picard, "He is get mad pret' queeck. I t'ink p'raps dat plan he go all right. You was get heem mad plaintee easy. Den maybee he is sen' you out _toute suite_--maybee he is shoot you." "I'll take the chances--my friend." "_Ba oui_," shrugged Achille Picard, "eet is wan chance." He commenced to roll another cigarette. _Chapter Five_