His huge and savage dog lay at his feet, listening for the faintest sound from without.
Every now and then the old man looked at a clock, and then appeared to read again until a sharp whistle was heard.
The dog and man leaped up, but suddenly Lagrenay bade the animal be quiet, and went himself to open the door. He started back as two men entered, strangers.
"I am Joshua Dickson," said the first, "and this is my brother Samuel. You sent for my son; we have come in his place."
The old man professed to be glad to see his neighbours, and bade them be seated. After some time wasted in circumlocution, he began to speak of real business.
"You have established yourselves in the Valley of the Moose Deer," he said, "a magnificent settlement."
"That valley belongs to one of the most powerful tribes on the whole of the Missouri," continued Lagrenay.
"No matter. Virgin soil belongs to the first comer."
"Perhaps. But that is not the question. This tribe have other lands of which they take no account," went on the squatter, "and will probably never claim, but they have special reasons for keeping the Valley of the Deer sacred."
"In that valley is buried the treasure of the nation."
"What treasure? Old shooter of muskrats!" cried Joshua; "There is no treasure like mother earth."
"I mean a real treasure--gold, ingots, diamonds," said the old man, "to the extent of many millions."
"So much the better," replied Joshua; "it is mine."
"Take care! The struggle will be terrible. Your adversaries are many and brave; they have allied themselves with the outlaws of the desert, and, moreover, have taken as their chief a fellow countryman, who dearly covets your possessions."
"May I ask the name of my countryman?" inquired Samuel, in a bantering tone of voice.
"His name is George Clinton," said Lagrenay.
"George Clinton!" exclaimed Joshua, amazed.
"You lie, miserable wretch!" said Samuel Dickson, rising; "George Clinton is an honourable man, not a--"
"I have spoken the truth. Do as you please."
Then the door was burst open, and two men entered pushing forward a third with blows of musket butts.
"Miserable wretch!" said one, seizing him by the throat, "I am George Clinton, and you lie in your teeth."
Rock attempted to fly at the assailants, but Charbonneau brained him with the butt end of his gun.