mself of
using a little guile.

"Why shouldn't I come here?" he demanded.

"I don't like the way you and your partner do business," said Gaviller.

There was nothing to be gained by a wordy dispute, but Ambrose was only
human. "You are sore because we smashed the company's monopoly at
Moultrie," he said.

"Not at all," said Gaviller calmly. "The trade is free to all. What
little you have taken from us is not noticeable in the whole volume.
But you have deliberately set to work to destroy what it has taken two
centuries to build up--the white man's supremacy. You breed trouble
among the Indians. You make them insolent and dangerous."

"Company talk," said Ambrose scornfully. "A man can make himself
believe what he likes. We treat the Indians like human beings. Around
us they're doing well for the first time. Here, where you have your
monopoly, they're sick and starving!"

"That is not true," said Gaviller coolly. "And, in any case, I do not
mean to discuss my business with you. I deal openly. You had the
opportunity to do my daughter a slight service. I have repaid it with
my hospitality. We are quits. I now warn you not to show your face
here again."

"I shall do as I see fit," said Ambrose doggedly.

"You compel me to speak still more plainly," said Gaviller. "If you
are found on the Company's property again, you will be thrown off."

"You cannot frighten me with threats," said Ambrose.

"You are warned!" said Gaviller. He strode off to his house.

CHAPTER VIII.

IN AMBROSE'S CAMP.

Ambrose was awakened in his mosquito-tent by an alarm from Job. The
sun was just up, and it was therefore no more than three o'clock. A
visitor was approaching in a canoe.

In the North a caller is a caller. Ambrose crept out of his blankets
and, swallowing his yawns, stuck his head in the river to clear his
brain.

The visitor was a handsome young breed of Ambrose's own age. Ambrose
surveyed his broad shoulders, his thin, graceful waist and thighs
approvingly. He rejoiced in an animal built for speed and endurance.
Moreover, the young man's glance was direct and calm. This was a
native who respected himself.

"Tole Grampierre, me," he said, offering his hand.

Ambrose grasped it. "I'm Ambrose Doane," he said.

"I know," said the young breed. "Las' night I go to the store. The
boys say Ambrose Doane, the free-trader, is camp' down the river. So I
talk wit' my fat'er. I say I go and s