“What the hell do you suppose I care for one greasy half-breed!” and he clutched the stock of his gun with trembling fingers. “For God's sake,” he moaned, “Let's be moving. It was only a half-breed, what the hell's use quarrelling about him. I've sent him where he'll do no more harm.” CHAPTER FOURTEEN THEY saw no more of Basil Landray, Baptiste, and the too-smiling Raymond, which caused them some surprise at first; for the fur trader's sinister threat at parting had not sounded like an empty menace; yet when a week elapsed they decided that he had spoken rather for the half-breed than to them. “What can they do?” said Bushrod contemptuously. “I've been looking for them to take pot shots at some of us; but after all that would be a risky business.” “I wish,” said Stephen, “that we might find another way into Salt Lake; I don't like this thing of keeping on after them.” “No,” said Rogers slowly, as though he were himself reluctantly abandoning some such idea. “No, our best chance is to keep on as we are going until we strike the head waters of the Weber. But look here, Mr. Landray, I didn't count on seeing the last of them so soon. Do you reckon they've hatched some plan to hold us up there in the valley?” “How could they?” Stephen demanded. “You mean you think they may try to hold us for the murder,” he added. “Mr. Landry, it wa'n'. no murder,” said Rogers, deeply offended at his unfortunate choice of words. “I wouldn't ask to die no fairer than he done.” “I didn't mean to say that, Rogers,” said Stephen hastily. “No, but you think of it as that,” retorted Rogers bitterly. “There's no use of our quarrelling about it, Rogers,” said Stephen. “You settled with him in your own fashion.” “I never knowed of a case,” said Rogers moodily, “but I've heard of a white man being tried for killing a redskin; and the one I shot was a half-breed, and so some sort white just as he was some sort red.” “I hadn't thought of that,” said Stephen. “Well,” observed Rogers, “three or four days now will bring us into the valley. Mr. Landray, that's one redskin I'm mighty sorry I put out of business; if I'd been at the same pains to stave off the trouble I was to fetch it to a head, or if I'd sort of nursed it along until we got to the other side of this two-wife country, it might have saved us a heap of bother.” Early the following morning Rogers was roused by Stephen, and as he came to consciousness he felt Stephen's hand on his shoulder. “Turn out, Rogers,” said Landray. “One of the mules has broken its rope and strayed.” The Californian crawled sleepily from among his blankets. “What do you say—the mules—” “The piebald's slipped her picket rope.” “Dam her pepper and salt hide anyhow!” said Rogers, now wide awake. “I bet I rope her to-night so she don't get loose.” “She can't have gone far for she was here when Bingham relieved me three hours after midnight.” It was then just dawn. “Where are the others?” asked Rogers, glancing about.