"Guess it's your duty to see what's in these bottles," he remarked.
"Shall I get one out?"

"You needn't; I've a pretty good idea," answered Flett; adding
meaningly, "besides, it's the kind of stuff a white man can't drink."
Then he turned to George. "I'd better take you home. You look kind of
shaky."

"What about my horse?" George asked.

"Guess he's made for home," said the teamster. "I struck his trail,
and it led right out of the woods."

George got into the wagon with some trouble, and the teamster rode
beside it when they set off.

"You haven't much to put before a court," he said to Flett.

"No," the constable replied thoughtfully. "I'm not sure our people
will take this matter up; anyway, it looks as if we could only fix it
on the Indians. This is what comes of you folks fooling things,
instead of leaving them to us."

"The police certainly like a conviction," rejoined the teamster,
grinning. "They feel real bad when the court lets a fellow off; seem
to think that's their business. Guess it's why a few of their
prisoners escape."

Flett ignored this, and the teamster turned to George.