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 David looked the engineer steadily in the eyes.

"Dees heel run many mile' to de scut', den turn wes'. You get no trail tru flat country for day travel. To de nord you get 'round een leetle piece."

"You say that the outlet of these lakes runs north-west and don't flow east into the Flaming. This map says it does. Are you lying or telling the truth?"

At the insult the Indian's breath quickened. His hands clinched convulsively as he faced the factor, but choking down his anger, he answered:

"Dees lak' run far nordwes' many day travel. Dees map ees bad map!" The veins stood out like whip-cords on the old man's temples and neck. His dark eyes blazed defiantly into those of the engineer as he hissed:

"Eet lie!"

"Well, maybe it does; maybe it does; we'll see soon enough."

The Indian's resentment was lost on the thick-skinned McDuff, who turned to the map before him, but there flashed through the brain of Gordon the impression that something more than the error of a surveying-party lay behind old David's vehemence. At Jackfish he had turned like a trapped wolverine to utter in that tragic manner the same words: "Eet lie!"

There was something behind all this, but what it was he could not guess.

Again David assured McDuff that he had been the length of the Flaming and only to the north could