“Mr. Lablache can pay you if he chooses, but until I know that your information’s worth it I don’t part with fifty cents.  Now then, we’ve had dealings before, Gautier—­dealings which have not always been to your credit.  You can trust me to part liberally if you’ve anything worth telling, but mind this, you don’t get anything beforehand, and if you don’t tell us all you know, in you go to Calford and a diet of skilly’ll be your lot for some time to come.”

The man’s face lowered considerably at this.  He knew Horrocks well, and was perfectly aware that he would be as good as his word.  There was nothing to be gained by holding out.  Therefore he accepted the inevitable with as bad a grace as possible.  Lablache kept silence, but he was reading the Breed as he would a book.

“See hyar, sergeant,” said Gautier, sulkily, “you’re mighty hard on the Breeds, an’ you know it.  It’ll come back on you, sure, one o’ these days.  Guess I’m going to play the game square.  It ain’t fur me to bluff men o’ your kidney, only I like to know that you’re going to treat me right.  Well, this is what I’ve got to say, an’ it’s worth fifty as you’ll ’low.”

Horrocks propped himself upon the corner of the money-lender’s desk and prepared to listen.  Lablache’s lashless eyes were fixed with a steady, unblinking stare upon the half-breed’s face.  Not a muscle of his own pasty, cruel face moved.  Gautier was talking to, at least, one man who was more cunning and devilish than himself.

The dusky ruffian gave a preliminary cough and then launched upon his story with all the flowery embellishments of which his inventive fancy was capable.  What he had to tell was practically the same as Horrocks had overheard.  There were a few items of importance which came fresh to the police-officer’s ears.  It stuck Lablache that the man spoke in the manner of a lesson well learned, and, in consequence, his keen interest soon relaxed.  Horrocks, however, judged differently, and saw in the man’s story a sound corroboration of his own information.  As the story progressed his interest deepened, and at its conclusion he questioned the half-breed closely.

“This pusky.  I suppose it will be the usual drunken orgie?”

“I guess,” was the laconic rejoinder.

“Any of the Breeds from the other settlements coming over?”

“Can’t say, boss.  Like enough, I take it.”

“And what is Retief’s object in defraying all expenses—­in giving the treat, when he knows that the white men are after him red-hot?”

“Mebbe it’s bluff—­cheek.  Peter’s a bold man.  He snaps his fingers at the police,” replied Gautier, illustrating his words with much appreciation.  He felt he was getting a smack at the sergeant.

“Then Peter’s a fool.”

“Guess you’re wrong thar.  Peter’s the slickest ‘bad man’ I’ve heerd tell of.”

“We’ll see.  Now what about the keg?  Of course the cattle have crossed it.  A secret path?”