They hurried to the side of the Indian who had been so suddenly stricken by the fatal bullet of Dave Farrell, and turned him over. The ball had entered the back just below the left shoulder, and passed through his heart, so that his death was instantaneous. His face was calm and peaceful, and both the mountainmen started as they recognized “Half-breed Jack,” a man who was known far and wide as one of most trusted employes of the Hudson Bay Company—a villain who was capable of any crime. “Now this begins to look like business,” said Dave. “Old Pegs, you and I must talk this matter over alone.” “Why alone, my mountain hero?” demanded Rafe, in a bantering tone. “Am I to understand that you do not consider me a trustworthy person?” “We never trust strangers with our business,” replied Dave. “You do not seem in the least surprised to see Half-breed Jack lying here.” “Half-breed Jack, eh? And who, pray, is Half-breed Jack?” “If you don’t know now, you never will,” was the ambiguous reply. “Here, old man, let’s you and I have a talk.” “I see that you are disposed to set my friends against me,” said Rafe, angrily. “Beware, young man. I am one who never forgets or forgives an injury, and one day I may take occasion to remind you of this one.” “All right; will you be kind enough to leave us alone now?” Rafe stood for full two minutes looking with a dark scowl into the face of the young captain of the “Trapping Brigade,” and then, turning on his heel, he walked toward the cabin, his heart torn by contending passions. Old Pegs and Dave remained over the body of the half-breed, looking very ill at ease. “This man is not to be trusted,” said Dave, quickly. “I can not place him, but I am certain that I have seen him under circumstances of peculiar significance. I can not for my life remember any thing except the place, and that was Fort Garry.” “He mout hev been thar jest ez you were, Dave. Beavers and bufflers! you don’t go back on a man acause he’s bin in Fort Garry, does you?” “I’ll wager my existence that he is a bad man,” replied Dave, hotly. “He has a nasty drop in his eye that I don’t like, and one day you will find that I am right. Why should the Modoc Sioux be here? Don’t you know that no man on earth has as much influence among them as Half-breed Jack?” “Thet don’t hurt Rafe Norris, my boy.” “But that Indian he killed knew him, I am almost willing to swear; and, God forgive me if I do him wrong, but I think he killed him fearing that the Sioux might say something to betray him.” “I had the same thort in my mind, Dave, I allow,” said Old Pegs. “Now, what do you perpose to do?” “I’m going to put a spy on him when he leaves this place that will trail him through to Oregon but he’ll find out who he is.” “Agreed, Dave; but don’t rile up at the man acause he’s taken a fancy ter my little gal. I see whar the harniss is tight onto you, but, buttermilk and molasses! you don’t think I’d give my gal ter sech ez him!”