down the clamps of self-control. "I asked for you," he
said stolidly, "because I did not know if your father was well enough
to talk business. May I see him for five minutes?"

"No," she said, without condescending to explain.

"Then I will tell you," said Ambrose. "It is about the Indians across
the river. I must have some flour for them."

"Must?" she repeated, raising her eyebrows.

"They are suffering from hunger," he said firmly.

"You will have to see Mr. Strange," she said coolly. "He is in charge
of the business."

"This is a question for the head to decide," warned Ambrose.

"You will have to see Mr. Strange," she repeated, unmoved.

Ambrose's eyes flamed up. For a moment the two pairs
contended--Ambrose's passionate, Colina's steely. The man was
struggling with the atavic impulse to thrash the maddening, arrogant
woman creature into a humbler frame of mind.

It may be, too, that deep in her heart of hearts Colina desired
something of the kind. Perhaps she could not master her worser self
alone. Anyhow, it was impossible there in her own stronghold, with
Simon looking on. They were too civilized or not civilized enough.

Ambrose merely bowed to her and led the way out of the room and out of
the house.

"Thank God, that is over!" he murmured outside.

Crossing the square, they entered the store. It was the first time
Ambrose had been inside that famous show-place of the north, but he had
no eyes for it now. Gordon Strange welcomed them with smiling
heartiness.

"Come in! Come in!" he cried, leading the way into the rear office.
"Sit down! Have a cigar!"

The scowling Ambrose stared as if he thought the man demented. He
waved the cigar away and came directly to the point.

"I want to find out what you're willing to do about the Kakisa Indians."

"Sure!" cried Strange with apparently the best will in the world. "Sit
down. What do you propose?"

"How much will you charge me to grind me five hundred bushels of grain
for them?"

"I'm sorry," said Strange. "The old man won't hear of it."

"Will you let them starve?" cried Ambrose.

"What can I do?" said Strange distressfully. "I'm not the head."

"Grind it in spite of him," said Ambrose. "Humanity and prudence would
both be on your side. You'll get their fur by it."

"I think Mr. Gaviller expects to get the fur anyway," said Strange with
a seeming deprecatory air--but the suspicion of a smirk wreathed his
full lips.