in Montana when his employer called it quietly, speaking still in the
slow, nasal voice of perfect good-nature.

"Maybe you're right, West. That's for you to say, of course. You know
your own business best. Figure out your time an' I'll have Benson
write you a check. Hope you find a good job."

The sense of baffled anger in West foamed up. His head dropped down
and forward threateningly.

"You do, eh? Lemme tell you this, C.N. I don't ask no odds of you or
any other guy. Jes' because you're the head of a big outfit you can't
run on me. I won't stand for it a minute."

"Of course not. I'd know better'n to try that with you. No hard
feelings even if you quit us." It was a characteristic of the New
Englander that while he was a forceful figure in this man's country,
he rarely quarreled with any one.

"That so? Well, you listen here. I been layin' off that new pardner of
yours because he's yore kin. Not anymore. Different now. He's liable
to have a heluva time an' don't you forget it for a minute."

The fur-trader chewed his cud imperturbably. When he spoke it Was
still without a trace of acrimony.

"Guess you'll think better of that maybe, West. Guess you're a little
hot under the collar, ain't you? Don't hardly pay to hold grudges,
does it? There was Rhinegoldt now. Kept nursin' his wrongs an' finally
landed in the pen. Bad medicine, looks like to me."