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"When I seen that skunk Bergstein leave I thought I'd let ye know." He leaned forward, one hand fumbling under the rags. "That's what I found," he said in a whisper, as he drew out a piece of twisted paper. "I had hard work to get it," he added, carefully untwisting the fragment and disclosing a teaspoonful of whitish powder.
After his door was closed, Holcomb stood thinking for some moments, his eyes fastened on the candle flame. "That nigh horse seemed all right this fore-noon," he said to himself. "That's the second horse with colic." Thayor's first meeting with Bergstein occurred the next morning. It was brief and business-like, but it left a good impression on Thayor's mind.
Got any gin in your place? the nigh hoss on Jimmy's team is took bad with the colic." "Come inside," said Holcomb. "Bad luck," muttered Bergstein, as he followed Holcomb into the cabin; "there ain't a better work hoss on the place. Must have catched cold drawin' them heavy loads on the mountain."
"You ain't fur from the p'int," blurted out Dollard; "it hain't been fit to feed to a dog." "One moment, Mr. Dollard you will wait until I get through speaking," Thayor said as he lifted a pile of bills. "These," he went on, "are the complete list of supplies since Bergstein took charge of your commissary department.
That not a word concerning these things had reached Thayor's ears was owing, so Holcomb told him, to the influence of the trapper and the Clown, who prevented the men from coming to him in open protest. In the meantime he Holcomb had been secretly engaged in ferreting out the proofs of a wholesale villainy at the bottom of which was Bergstein.
"Suit yourself, friend," returned Morrison, and he pulled down the heavy shutter screening the array of bottles. Bergstein left with a brusque good-night and walked slowly up the road. He had not told Morrison all he knew. Trading horses was not the Jew's only business; he was equally adept in buying and selling timber-lands and the hiring of men.
"Quite different from mine," declared Holcomb; "he pronounced it congestion." "Was he a capable man?" demanded Thayor. "So Bergstein said," replied Holcomb slowly. "He got him from Montreal." Thayor bent his head in deep thought. "And what do you think, Holcomb?" "That the horse was poisoned, sir." Thayor started. "That's a serious charge. What proof have you got?"
He had been frank in giving his opinion of Bergstein, since Thayor had put the question point blank to him. Their talk before the fire had been a genial one, save for this somewhat unpleasant subject, yet despite Thayor's kindly optimism in regard to Bergstein, owing purely to his excellent recommendation, Holcomb felt a distrust of the mysterious stranger who had wormed his way into Big Shanty.
"Seems to me I heard your name before. There was a man by that name that was mixed up in that Jim Bailey murder. You ain't he, be ye?" "No I come from Montreal," replied Bergstein in a more positive tone. "The name's common enough." Here he opened the black valise stuffed with business papers and handed Morrison a card.
There was nothing to lead up to it, but that was a way with Bergstein. As he spoke he folded the list and tucked it into his black portfolio. "Married?" asked Thayor. "Yes, and to as nice a little woman as you ever see, Mr. Thayor. He ain't left her much, not more than will keep her out of the poor-house." Bergstein's voice had grown as soft as an Oriental's. "I buried him at my own expense.
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