“I presume he knows only raw furs,” said Wentworth casually.  “He could, of course, have no knowledge of the finished product.”

“An’ there ye’re wrong.  Of his early life I know nothing except that he’s a foreigner, raised in the fur trade.  He can spot topped or pointed furs as far as he can see them, an’ as for appraisin’ them, he can tell almost to a dollar the value of any piece ye could show him.  But——­”

The door opened and Murchison turned to greet a newcomer.  “Hello, Downey!” he called. “’Tis a long time since ye’ve favored Gods Lake with a visit.  Come up to the stove, lad, an’ meet Mr. Wentworth.

“Mr. Wentworth, this is Corporal Downey, of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police.”  At the word police Wentworth started ever so slightly, but caught himself on the instant.  He searched the keen gray eyes of the officer as he extended his hand, but if Downey noticed the momentary trepidation he gave no sign.

“So you’re Wentworth,” he remarked casually, as he swung the light pack from his shoulders.

“Captain Wentworth.”

“Oh,” Downey accorded him a slanting glance, and entered into conversation with Murchison.

“You knew my name, do you want to see me?” Wentworth interrupted after a wait of several minutes.

“No, not in particular.  Only if I was you I’d beware of a dark-haired man, as the fortune-tellers say.”

“What do you mean?”

“I met Alex Thumb a piece back on the trail.”

“Well, what of it?  What has that got to do with me?”

“I don’t know.  He mentioned your name, that’s all.  An’ I just kind of surmised from the way he done it that you an’ him didn’t part the best of friends.”

“I hired him for a guide, and he undertook to give me my orders on the trail.  But I soon showed him where he stood.”

Downey nodded.  “He’s counted bad medicine up here.”

“I guess he won’t bother me any; I’m here to stay.”

“No, he won’t be apt to bother you any.  Probably kill you, though, if you don’t keep your eyes open.  But don’t worry about that, because if he does I’ll get him.”

“He can’t bluff me.  I served with the engineers in Russia.”

“You’ll be servin’ with the devils in hell, too, if you don’t quit makin’ enemies of men like Alex Thumb.”

“They didn’t use up all the brains, when they made the Mounted, Captain.”

“Corporal’ll do me,” corrected the officer.  “I wasn’t with the engineers—­in Russia.  I was only in the trenches—­in France.”

As Downey slung his pack to his shoulders the following morning he stepped close to Murchison.  The trading room was deserted save for those two, but the officer lowered his voice.  “Wentworth ain’t the only one around here that needs watchin’,” he said warningly.

“What do ye mean?”