Old Aleck was meanwhile dilating upon his theme before a passive
listener. But Pierre was only passive outwardly. Besides hearkening to
the father's complaints he was closely watching the son. Pierre was
clever, and a good actor. He had learned the power of reserve and
outward immobility. The Indian in him helped him there. He had heard
what Young Aleck had just muttered; but to the man of the cold fingers he
said: "You keep good whisky in spite of the law and the iron glove, Old
Aleck." To the young man: "And you can drink it so free, eh, Young
Aleck?"

The half-breed looked out of the corners of his eyes at the young man,
but he did not raise the peak of his fur cap in doing so, and his glances
askance were not seen.

Young Aleck had been writing something with his finger-nail on the frost
of the pane, over and over again. When Pierre spoke to him thus he
scratched out the word he had written, with what seemed unnecessary
force. But in one corner it remained:

"Mab--"

Pierre added: "That is what they say at Humphrey's ranch."

"Who says that at Humphrey's?--Pierre, you lie!" was the sharp and
threatening reply. The significance of this last statement had been
often attested on the prairies by the piercing emphasis of a six-
chambered revolver. It was evident that Young Aleck was in earnest.
Pierre's eyes glowed in the shadow, but he idly replied: