Willock uttered a sharp exclamation. "Let me see it." He started
up abruptly, and bent over the page.

"What of it?" asked Bill in surprise. Willock had uttered words to
which the dugout was unaccustomed.

"That's what it is," Willock growled; "it's Gledware!" His face
had grown strangely dark and forbidding, and Wilfred, who had never
imagined it could be altered by such an expression, handed him the
letter with a sense of uneasiness.

"What of it?" reiterated Bill. "Suppose it IS Gledware; who is HE?"

"Do you know such a man?" Wilfred demanded.

"Out with it!" cried Bill, growing wrathful as the other glowered
at the fire. "What's come over you? Look here, Brick Willock,
Lahoma is your cousin, but I claim my share in that little girl and
I ask you sharp and flat--"

"Oh you go to--!" cried Willock fiercely. "All of you."

Wilfred said lightly, "Red Feather has already gone there, perhaps."

"Eh?" Willock wheeled about as if roused to fresh uneasiness. The
Indian chief had glided from the room, as silent and as unobtrusive
as a shadow.

Willock sank on the bench beside Bill Atkins and said harshly,