“But you may be a few horses ahead.”

Stevens bit off a chunk of tobacco and sat down.  For a few moments he looked at the muddy flood with an ugly eye.  Then he chuckled, and grinned.

“Came through the camp half an hour ago,” he said.  “Hear you cleaned up on Bill Quade.”

“A bit,” said Aldous.

Stevens rolled his quid and spat into the water slushing at his feet.

“Guess I saw the woman when she got off the train,” he went on.  “She dropped something.  I picked it up, but she was so darned pretty as she stood there looking about I didn’t dare go up an’ give it to her.  If it had been worth anything I’d screwed up my courage.  But it wasn’t—­so I just gawped like the others.  It was a piece of paper.  Mebby you’d like it as a souvenir, seein’ as you laid out Quade for her.”

As he spoke, Stevens fished a crumpled bit of paper from his pocket and gave it to his companion.  Aldous had sat down beside him.  He smoothed the page out on his knee.  There was no writing on it, but it was crowded thick with figures, as if the maker of the numerals had been doing some problem in mathematics.  The chief thing that interested him was that wherever monetary symbols were used it was the “pound” and not the “dollar” sign.  The totals of certain columns were rather startling.

“Guess she’s a millionaire if that’s her own money she’s been figgering,” said Stevens.  “Notice that figger there!” He pointed with a stubby forefinger.  “Pretty near a billion, ain’t it?”

“Seven hundred and fifty thousand,” said Aldous.

He was thinking of the “pound” sign.  She had not looked like the Englishwomen he had met.  He folded the slip of paper and put it in his pocket.

Stevens eyed him seriously.

“I was coming over to give you a bit of advice before I left for the Maligne Lake country,” he said.  “You’d better move.  Quade won’t want you around after this.  Besides——­”

“What?”

“My kid heard something,” continued the packer, edging nearer.  “You was mighty good to the kid when I was down an’ out, Aldous.  I ought to tell you.  It wasn’t an hour ago the kid was behind the tent an’ he heard Quade and Slim Barker talking.  So far as I can find from the kid, Quade has gone nutty over her.  He’s ravin’.  He told Slim that he’d give ten thousand dollars to get her in his hands.  What sent the boy down to me was Quade tellin’ Slim that he’d get you first.  He told Slim to go on to Tete Jaune—­follow the girl!”

“The deuce you say!” cried Aldous, clutching the other’s arm suddenly.  “He’s done that?”

“That’s what the kid says.”

Aldous rose to his feet slowly.  The careless smile was playing about his mouth again.  A few men had learned that in those moments John Aldous was dangerous.

“The kid is undoubtedly right,” he said, looking down at Stevens.  “But I am quite sure the young woman is capable of taking care of herself.  Quade has a tremendous amount of nerve, setting Slim to follow her, hasn’t he?  Slim may run up against a husband or a brother.”