to all the higher standards of life she craved.

"I don't know. Likely it's all a mare's nest. Find Stokimatis,
Lemoine, and bring her back with you. Well see what she can tell us.
And get the locket and the ring, with the story back of them."

Again Lemoine referred to the cost. He would have to take his
dog-train to Whoop-Up, and from there out to the creek where Pierre
Roubideaux was living. Makoye-kin and his family might be wintering
anywhere within a radius of a hundred miles. Was there any use in
going out on such a wild-hare chase?

Whaley thought there was and said so with finality. He did not give
his real reason, which was that he wanted to pay back to McRae and his
daughter the debt he owed. They had undoubtedly saved his life after
he had treated her outrageously. There was already one score to his
credit, of course. He had saved her from West. But he felt the balance
still tipped heavily against him. And he was a man who paid his debts.

It was this factor of his make-up--the obligation of old associations
laid upon him--that had taken him out to West with money, supplies,
and a dog-train to help his escape.

Jessie went out to find her father. Her eagerness to see him outflew
her steps. This was not a subject she could discuss with Matapi-Koma.
The Cree woman would not understand what a tremendous difference it
made if she could prove her blood was wholly of the superior race. Nor
could Jessie with tact raise such a point. It involved not only the
standing of Matapi-Koma herself, but also of her sons.

The girl found McRae in the storeroom looking over a bundle of
assorted pelts--marten, fox, mink, and beaver. The news tumbled from
her lips in excited exclamations.

"Oh, Father, guess! Mr. Lemoine saw a picture--a Blackfoot woman had
it--old Makoye-kin's wife--and she sold it. And he says it was like
me--exactly. Maybe it was my aunt--or some one. My father's sister!
Don't you think?"

"I'll ken what I think better gin ye'll just quiet doon an' tell me a'
aboot it, lass."

She told him. The Scotchman took what she had to say with no outward
sign of excitement. None the less his blood moved faster. He wanted
no change in the relations between them that would interfere with the
love she felt for him. To him it did not matter whether she was of the
pure blood or of the metis. He had always ignored the Indian in her.
She was a precious wildling of beauty and delight. By nature she was
of the rulin