McCoppet was left there staring where he had gone--staring and afraid of what the results would probably be to all the game. He had no eyes to behold a man who had suddenly discerned him from the crowds. A moment later he started violently as a huge form stood in the door. "Trimmer!" he said, "I'm busy!" "You're goin' to be busier in about a minute, if I don't see you right now," said the man addressed as Trimmer, a raw, bull-like lumberman from the mountains. "Been waitin' to see you some time." "Come in," said the gambler instantly regaining his composure. "Come in and shut the door. How are you, anyway?" He held out his hand to shake. Trimmer closed the door. "Ain't ready to shake, jest yet," he said. "I come here to see you on business." "That's all right, Larry," answered McCoppet. "That's all right. Sit down." "I'm goin' to," announced his visitor. He took a chair, pulled out a giant cigar, and lighting it up smoked like a pile of burning leaves. "You seem to be pretty well fixed," he added, taking a huge black pistol from his pocket and laying it before him on the table. "Looks like money was easy." "I ain't busted," admitted the gambler. "Have a drink?" "Not till we finish." The lumberman settled in his chair. "That was the way you got me before--and you ain't goin' to come it again." McCoppet waited for his visitor to open. Trimmer was not in a hurry. He eyed the man across the table calmly, his small, shifting optics dully gleaming. Presently he said; "Cayuse is here in camp." Cayuse was the half-breed Piute Indian whose company McCoppet had avoided. Partially educated, wholly reverted to his Indian ways and tribal brethren, Cayuse was a singular mixture of the savage, plus civilized outlooks and ethical standards that made him a dangerous man--not only a law unto himself, as many Indians are, but also a strange interpreter of the law, both civilized and aboriginal. McCoppet had surmised what was coming. "Yes--I noticed he was here." "Know what he come fer?" asked the lumberman. "Onto his game?" "You came here to tell me. Deal the cards." Trimmer puffed great lungfuls of the reek from his weed and took his revolver in hand. "Opal," said he, enjoying his moment of vantage, "you done me up for a clean one thousand bucks, a year ago--while I was drunk--and I've been laying to git you ever since." McCoppet was unmoved. "Well, here I am." "You bet! here you are--and here you're goin' to hang out till we fix things _right_!" The lumberman banged his gun barrel on the table hard enough to make a dent. "That's why Cayuse is here, too. Mrs. Cayuse is dead." The gambler nodded coldly, and Trimmer went on. "She kicked the bucket havin' a kid which wasn't Cayuse's--too darn white fer even him--and Cayuse is on the war trail fer that father." McCoppet threw away his chewed cigar and replaced it with a fresh one. He nodded as before.