Houston turned back toward the lower camp road, wondering vaguely what it all could mean, striving to figure why Ba'tiste should have turned to logging operations instead of continuing to stress every workman's ability on the rebuilding of the burned structure.

A mile he went--two--then halted.
A thunderous voice was booming belligerently from the distance: "You lie--un'stan'?
Ba'teese say you lie--if you no like eet, jus'-- what-you-say--climb up me! Un'stan'?
Climb up me!" Houston broke into a run, racing along the flume with constantly increasing speed as he heard outburst after outburst from the giant trapper, interjected by the lesser sounds of argumentative voices in reply.

Faintly he heard a woman's voice, then Ba'tiste's in sudden command: "Go on--you no belong here.

Ba'tiste, he handle this.

Go 'long!" Faster than ever went Barry Houston, at last to make the turn of the road as it followed the flume, and to stop, breathless, just in time to escape colliding with the broad back of the gigantic Canadian, squared as he was, half across the road.