across the strings and
his eyes drifting bade to find those of Ernestine Dumont. Then through
the discordance of other voices, of clicking chips, rustling cards,
dice snapped down upon the hard table tops, chink of glass and bottle
neck, the voice of Ramon Garcia, liberated softly, filled the room with
its richness as a room is filled with the perfume of flowers. Such
music as he made did not often come into the North Woods, and men . . .
and one woman . . . listened.

He sang it in the Spanish, a tongue which no other man here understood.
Yet they must all guess the meaning of the words. They were love
words, tenderly lilted. And they were being sung to Ernestine Dumont.
There was a little smile upon young Ramon's lips, a hint of gay
laughter in his voice and in his soft eyes a deal of love making.
Kootanie George scowled, Ernestine twirled her glass in her fingers,
one or two men laughed.

When he had done Ramon Garcia swept his fingers across the strings in a
sort of mournful regret. Then, when there was a sudden clapping of
hands, he bowed, smiled and sang again, this time putting the words of
his little song, the same song, into English:

"The perfume of roses, of little red roses;
(Thou art a rose, oh, so sweet, _corazon_!)
The laugh of the water who falls in the fountain;
(Thou art the fountain of love, _corazon_!)
The brightness of stars, of little stars golden;
(_Estrella de mi vida_! My little life star!)
The shine of the moon through the magnolia tree;
I am so sad till thou come, _mi amor_!
_Dios_! It is sweet to be young and to love!
More sweet than wine . . . to be young and to love!"

In the clapping of hands which broke out when he had done Ernestine's
was to be heard above Kootanie George's grunt of disgust.

"No man talk, that," he snorted, careless of who heard. "Dam' slush."

"Your deal, Koot," laughed Blunt Rand, the American trapper from the
headwaters of the Little MacLeod. "Don't let the Mexican gent spoil
your play that-away. Deal 'em up, why don't you?"

Kootanie George glared at Rand and gathered in the cards. He
understood as did Ernestine and the others at the table the gibe which
lay under Rand's words. The American's fancies, too, had run toward
Ernestine Dumont not so long ago, and she had not deigned to take
notice of him after the coming of Kootanie.

"Mexican gent, huh?" said George slowly. "If you mean Greaser why
don't you say Gr