“I wonder if that don't save me a hundred and a quarter; they certainly ain't entitled to his share, now are they?” But if they heard him, no one replied to the deserter, who continued to regard Rogers with an envious admiration. “The eternally condemned bag of bones, where'd he get the heart for it?” he muttered. And then a savage cry came from the direction of the water-hole, telling that the body had been found by Basil and Baptiste. Stephen turned to Rogers. “Get in one of the wagons, and lie still—take Benny with you—and, no matter what happens, stay there!” to the others he added: “Mind, right or wrong, we are not going to surrender him to them. That would but make a bad matter worse.” “What's your notion, Steve?” asked Bushrod briskly. “Hadn't we better look sharp for the half-breed?” “Yes, but don't be hasty. I'll attend to Basil.” “Say, Mr. Landray, if you'll give me a gun I'll make the shot for you.” said the deserter officiously. He was not regarded, but he continued to loudly lament that he was unarmed. Rogers had scarcely disappeared in one of the wagons when Basil and Baptiste galloped into camp; they flung themselves from their horses and confronted the little group about Stephen. “Where is he?” Basil shouted, seizing the latter by the arm. “Where's Rogers? You're no kin to me unless you give him up to us.” “Basil,” said Stephen quietly, falling back a step and freeing himself from the other's clutch, “it was the result of a quarrel, the fight was a fair one.” “It's a lie—it was murder!” the fur trader cried hoarsely. “Where is he?” and he glared about him. “Where you shan't touch him.” “Shan't?” he raged, his black beard bristling. “No.” “Where've you hidden him?” “Never mind. Where you can't find him?” “Do you make this you're affair?” “I won't say that, but it was self-defence. If he hadn't shot the Indian, the Indian would probably have shot him.” “Who says so? Did you see the fight? Fight?” he laughed aloud. “Fight? It was murder, cowardly murder!” “No, we didn't see the fight,” Stephen answered calmly. “Oh, you take his word, do you? Well, I don't,” and he started toward the wagons. “He's in there, and by God, I'll have him out, and Baptiste here shall settle with him!” “Dunlevy! Walsh!” called Stephen sharply. The two men stepped in front of the fur trader. “Basil,” said Stephen, “we'll inquire into this when we're all cooler.” “We'll settle it now!” swore Basil, with a great oath. “If he's done wrong he shall be punished; but not by you, not by us; the law—” “Damn the law! There's only one law for the plains.” “We'll hand him over to the commandant of the first military post.” Rogers, who heard every word that was said where he lay in the bed of one of the wagons, with a barricade of boxes about him, smiled grimly at this. “No they won't, son,” he whispered to the boy. “You and me will see California for all of them.”