CHAPTER XVIII.
THE HAND IN THE WATER Scott lying among the pine-needles after work had stopped, lighted his pipe and glanced at Thirlwell, who had been talking for some minutes.
"On the whole, it was lucky the smith had an iron hot," he said.

"Black Steve's a dangerous man and we know something about the _Metis_ temper.
Drummond, of course, is hardly a _Metis_, but he has a drop of Indian blood that must be reckoned on.

It's a remarkably virile strain." "I was rather glad they quarreled.

I'd been afraid Driscoll might learn he knew something about the lode and persuade him to join the gang.

I wouldn't trust him far." "You can trust his Indian instincts," Scott replied.