Chambre’s jug had been emptied and several times refilled from the contents of Tostoff’s concealed cask, which had been skilfully tapped and as skilfully replenished as to weight by the addition of snow water.

The effect of their protracted orgy was plainly visible in the bloodshot eyes and heavy movements of both men.  And it was more from force of long habit than from any sense of alertness or premonition of danger that they crouched in the thicket and watched the smoke curl from the little iron stovepipe that protruded above the roof of the cabin.

“Dem Injun she wait,” growled Xavier.  “Com’ on, me—­I’m lak’ for ketch som’ sleep.”  The two swung boldly into the open and, pausing only long enough to remove their rackets, pushed open the door of the cabin.

An instant later Du Mont, who was in the lead, leaped swiftly backward and, crashing into the heavier and clumsier Xavier bowled him over into the snow, where both wallowed helplessly, held down by Xavier’s heavy pack.

It was but the work of a moment for the wiry Du Mont to free himself, and when he leaped to his feet, cursing like a fiend, it was to look squarely into the muzzle of Corporal Ripley’s service revolver, while Constable Craig loosened the pack straps and allowed Xavier to arise.

“Caught with the goods, eh?” grinned Ripley, when the two prisoners were seated side by side upon the pole bunk.

The sullen-faced Xavier glowered in surly silence, but the malignant, beady eyes of Du Mont regarded the officer keenly.  “You patrol de Clearwater now, eh?”

Ripley laughed.  “When there’s anything doin’ we do.”

“How you fin’ dat out?  Dem Injun she squeal?  I’m lak’ to know ’bout dat.”

“Well, it wasn’t exactly an Indian this time,” answered Ripley; “that is, it wasn’t a regular Indian.  Pierre Lapierre put us on to this little deal.”

“Pierre—­LAPIERRE!”

The little wizened man fairly shrieked the name and, leaping to his feet, bounded about the room like an animated rubber ball, while from his lips poured a steady stream of vile epithets, mingled with every curse and gem of profanity known to two languages.

“That’s goin’ some,” enthused Constable Craig, when the other finally paused for breath.  “An’ come to think about it, I believe you’re right.  I like to hear a man speak his mind, an’ from your remarks it seems like you’re oncommon peeved with this here little deal.  It ain’t nothin’ to get so worked up over.  You’ll serve your time an’ in a couple of years or so they’ll turn you loose again.”

At the mention of the prison term the burly Xavier moved uneasily upon the bunk.  He seemed about to speak, but was forestalled by the quicker witted Du Mont.

“Two years, eh!” asked the outraged Metis, addressing Ripley.  “Mebe so you mak’ w’at you call de deal.  Mebe so I’m tell you who’s de boss.  Mebe so I’m name de man dat run de wheeskey into de Nort’.  De man dat plans de cattle raids on de bordair.  De man dat keels mor’ Injun dan mos’ men keels deer, eh!  Wat den?  Mebe so den you turn us loose, eh?”