nds deprecatingly. "Me, I tell them that," he
said. "But they are so mad!"

"John Gaviller is trying to use you to work his own ends," said Ambrose.

Watusk shrugged indifferently. This was the real man, Ambrose thought.
"Maybe so. You got trouble with Gaviller. That is not my trouble.
All I want is flour."

"You shall have it!" cried Ambrose boldly. "Enough to-morrow morning
to feed every family. Enough in three days to fill your order."

Watusk appeared to be a little taken aback, by the prompt granting of
his demand. "Where will you get it?" he asked.

"I will get it," Ambrose said. "That is enough."

When Ambrose and Simon got outside the teepee Simon asked the same
question: "Where _will_ you get it?"

"I don't know," said Ambrose. "Give me time. I'll find a way!"

"If Gaviller gets the Kakisa fur you'll make no profit this year,"
suggested Simon.

"I have to consider other things as well as profit," Ambrose said.
"There are more years to come."

Reaching the dugout, Simon asked: "Where now?"

"To the Fort," said Ambrose. "You don't have to come."

"We are together," said Simon grimly.

Ambrose, deeply moved by gratitude, growled inarticulately. He felt
himself young to stand alone against such powerful forces.

Crossing the river, they landed below the big yellow house and applied
at the side door for Colina. She had returned from her ride, they were
told. They were shown into the library.

In this little room Ambrose had already touched the summit of
happiness, and tasted despair. He hated it now. He kept his eyes on
the carpet.

Simon was visibly uneasy while they waited. "You think this any good?"
he suggested.

"No," said Ambrose bitterly. "I know well enough what I'll get. But
I've got to go through with it before taking the next step."

"John Gaviller live well," said Simon significantly, but without
bitterness.

Colina came in with her queenliest air. She had changed her riding
habit for clinging white draperies that made her look like a lovely,
arrogant saint. Ambrose, raising his sullen eyes to her, experienced a
new shock of desire that put the idea of flour out of his head.

To old Simon, Colina inclined her head as gracefully and indifferently
as a swan. The grim patriarch became humble under the spell of her
white beauty. He fingered his hat nervously. To Ambrose Colina said
with subtle scorn meant for his ear alone:

"What is it?"

Ambrose screwed