--so do I. And Moncrossen is afraid I will crab his
bird's-eye game--and I will, too, when the proper time comes.

"But he saw a chance to get rid of me, so he sent me after you,
probably knowing that you would not come; but it offered an excuse to
get me where he wanted me. Then he framed it up with Creed to steal the
team in the night while I was camped at Melton's No. 8, and leave me to
die bushed.

"I built a fire in the shack, ate my supper, rigged up a dummy near the
fire, and then went out to the sled and crawled under the tarp. After
making sure that I was asleep Creed stole the team as per schedule, but
he did not stop at that. He decided to make sure of me, so he locked
the door on the outside and fired the shack. I remained under the tarp,
and as Creed was going my way I let him do the driving. While he put up
the team I slipped out the back way, and here I am."

"Th' dirthy, murdherin' hound!" exclaimed the old man, chuckling and
weaving his body from side to side in evident enjoyment of the tale.

"An' phwat'll ye do wid um now ye're here?" The old man sat erect and
stared into the face of his guest, whose eyes had narrowed and whose
lips had curved into an icy smile.

"First, I'll give him the damnedest licking with my two fists that he
ever got in his life; then I'll turn him over to the authorities."

Daddy Dunnigan leaned forward and, laying a gnarled hand upon his
shoulder, shook him roughly in his excitement:

"Yer name, b'y? Phwat is yer name?" His voice quavered, and the little
eyes glittered between the red-rimmed lids, bright as an eagle's. The
younger man was astonished at his excitement.

"Why, Bill," he replied.

"Bill or Moike or Pat--wurrah! Oi mane yer rale name--th' whole av ut?"

"That I have not told. I am called Bill."

"Lord av hiven! I thocht ut th' fir-rst toime Oi seen ye--but now! Man!
B'y. Wid thim eyes an' that shmile on yer face, d'ye think ye c'd fool
owld Daddy Dunnigan, that was fir-rst corp'l t'rough two campaigns an'
a scourge av peace f'r Captain Fronte McKim?

"Who lucked afther um loike a brother--an' loved um more--an' who
fought an' swore an' laughed an' dhrank wid um trough all th'
plague-ridden counthry from Kashmir to th' say--an' who wropped um in
his blanket f'r th' lasht toime an' helped burry um wid his eyes
open--f'r he'd wished ut so--on th' long, brown slope av a rock-pocked
Punjab hill, ranged round tin deep wid th' dead naygers av Hira Kal?"