cage, and the Indians had come in to see it.  He found himself wondering, as they went through the darkness, how it had all been kept from the girl, and why Brokaw should deliberately lower himself still more in her esteem by allowing the combat to occur.  He asked him about it when they entered the shack to which Brokaw guided him, and after they had lighted a lamp.  It was a small, gloomy, whisky-smelling place.  Brokaw went directly to a box nailed against the wall and returned with a quart flask that resembled an army canteen, and two tin cups.  He sat down at a small table, his bloated, red face in the light of the lamp, that queer animal-like rumbling in his throat, as he turned out the liquor.  David had heard porcupines make something like the same sound.  He pulled his hat lower over his eyes to hide the gleam of them as Brokaw told him what he and Hauck had planned.  The bear in the cage belonged to him—­Brokaw.  A big brute.  Fierce.  A fighter.  Hauck and he were going to bet on his bear because it would surely kill Tara.  Make a big clean-up, they would.  Tara was soft.  Too easy living.  And they needed money because those scoundrels over on the coast had failed to get in enough whisky for their trade.  The girl had almost spoiled their plans by going away with Tara.  And he—­Mac—­was a devil of a good fellow for bringing her back!  They’d pull off the fight to-morrow.  If the girl—­that little bird-devil that belonged to him—­didn’t like it....

He brought the canteen down with a bang, and shoved one of the cups across to David.

“Of course, she belongs to you,” said David, encouragingly, “but—­confound you—­I can’t believe it, you old dog!  I can’t believe it!” He leaned over and gave Brokaw a jocular slap, forcing a laugh out of himself.  “She’s too pretty for you.  Prettiest kid I ever saw!  How did it happen?  Eh?  You—­lucky—­dog!”

He was fairly trembling as he saw the red fire of satisfaction, of gloating pleasure, deepen in Brokaw’s face.

“She hasn’t belonged to you very long, eh?”

“Long time, long time,” replied Brokaw, pausing with his cup half way to his mouth.  “Years ago.”

Suddenly he lowered the cup so forcefully that half the liquor in it was spilled over the table.  He thrust his huge shoulders and red face toward David, and in an instant there was a snarl on his thick lips.

“Hauck said she didn’t,” he growled.  “What do you think of that, Mac?—­said she didn’t belong to me any more, an’ I’d have to pay for her keep!  Gawd, I did.  I gave him a lot of gold!”

“You were a fool,” said David, trying to choke back his eagerness.  “A fool!”

“I should have killed him, shouldn’t I, Mac—­killed him an’ took her?” cried Brokaw huskily, his passion rising as he knotted his huge fists on the table.  “Killed him like you killed the Breed for that long-haired she-devil over at Copper Cliff!”

“I—­don’t—­know,” said David, slowly, praying that he might not say the wrong thing now.  “I don’t know what claim you had on her, Brokaw.  If I knew....”