t sets him lovin'. But he keeps his face closed. Same as
the feller that calls himself Brand. Oh, yes, Lorson's the kind of
oyster you couldn't hammer open with a haf ton maul."

"Why don't they trail him--this guy?" demanded Kid sharply.

"Trail? Why, the sharps are after him all the time. But he skins 'em to
death. Lorson's at the game, too. Oh, yes. Guess Lorson 'ud jump the
claim if he could get wise. But he ain't wise. No one is. But they'll
get that way one time, and then that mule-faced guy, who guesses we'll
hand him plague, will forget to get around in snow time. You can't beat
the Seal Bay 'sharps' all the time, though I allow he's beat 'em plumb
to death fourteen years."

"I'd guess it'll need grit to beat him," returned the Kid. "That is," he
added thoughtfully, "if you can judge the face of a--mule."

"Oh, _he's_ got grit--in plenty. Even Lorson gets his hat off to him
when he's around."

Dupont laughed maliciously.

"You mean----?"

"I was remembering Lorson's play," the trader went on. "He had his
'toughs' that time. Brand had pulled out two weeks and more. Then one
day a bunch of Northern neches pulled in. They'd beat down the coast in
a big-water canoe. The folks didn't notice them. It's the sort of thing
frequent happens. But Lorson got the scare of his life. He woke up next
morning with his pet 'tough'--a big breed--lying across his home
doorstep. He guessed he was dead. But he wasn't. He woke up about midday
and started guessing where he was. Later on he handed out a fancy yarn
what the neches had done to him. An', happening to dove a hand into a
pocket, he hauled out a letter addressed to Lorson himself. It just said
four words, an' Lorson spoke them. I don't guess they'd mean a thing to
the likes of him. They just said, 'Play the darn game.' And under them
was wrote 'Brand.'"

Kid grinned back into the other's eyes which were alight with malicious
delight.

"That's the med'cine to hand a feller that can understand white--not
Lorson," the gambler said. "I like that guy that calls himself 'Brand.'"

"Guess he's some boy all right. But--I was thinkin' of that breed. He
was doped."

The other nodded.

"You're guessing about that--queer trade," he said.

Dupont gazed out in the direction whence the dog train had disappeared
behind the group of great frame buildings which represented the
establishment of the Seal Bay Trading Corporation.

"Yep," he said thoughtfully.

* *