cross it. And beneath the
attenuated moustache another scar stretched from the corner of his
mouth half-way across his right cheek. Then, too, his Indian-like
black hair was unable to conceal the fact that half an ear was missing.
Nor did it take Kars a second to realize that the latter mutilation was
due to chewing by some adversary in a "rough and tumble" fight.

The man's greeting came in the white man's tongue. Nor was it tinged
with the "pigeon" method of the Indian. It smacked of the gold city
which knows little enough of refinement amongst even its best classes.

"Say, you boys are takin' all kinds of chances," he said, in a voice
that had little pleasantness of intonation. "I had some scare when I
see you come over the hills ther'. The darn neches bin out the way you
come, burnin', an' massacrin'. How you missed 'em beats me to death.
But I guess you did miss 'em?" he added significantly. "And I'm glad."

Kars was only concerned with the information of the Indians' movements.

"They're out?" he said.

"Sure they're out." The man laughed. "They're out most all the time.
Gee, it's livin' with a cyclone playin' around you on this
God-forgotten river. But, say, you boys need to beat it, an' beat it
quick, if you want to git out with your hair on. They're crazy for
guns an' things. If they git their noses on your trail they'll git you
sure as death."

The warning received less attention than it seemed to demand.

Kars looked the half-breed squarely in the eyes.

"Who are you?" he demanded. Abrupt as was the challenge the tone of it
had no roughness.

"Louis Creal."

"Belong here?"

Kars' steady eyes were compelling.

A flush of anger surged in the half-breed's mutilated cheeks. His eyes
snapped viciously.

"This ain't a catechism, is it?" he cried hotly. Then in a moment he
moderated his tone. "Fellers on the 'inside' don't figger to hand
around their pedigrees--usual. Howsum, I allow I come right along to
pass you a friendly warning, which kind o' makes it reasonable to tell
you the things folk don't usually inquire north of 'sixty.' Yep. I
live around this river, an' hand the neches a bum sort o' trade fer
their wares. Guess I scratch a livin', if you can call it that way, up
here. But it don't figger any. My ma come of this tribe. I guess my
paw belonged to yours."

"Where d'you get your goods for trade?"

The sparkle of hasty temper grew again in the black depths of the