aid of
MacNair--really I am not. And you have already neglected your own
affairs too long."

The man assented. "If I am to get my furs to the railway, do my own
trading, and yours, and return before the lake freezes, I must, indeed,
be on my way."

"You will wait while I write some letters? And you will post them for
me?"

Lapierre bowed. "As many as you wish," he said, and together they
walked to the girl's cabin whose quaint, rustic veranda overlooked the
river. The veranda was an addition of Lapierre's, and the cabin had
five rooms, instead of three.

The quarter-breed waited, whistling softly a light French air, while
Chloe wrote her letters. He breathed deeply of the warm spruce-laden
breeze, slapped lazily at mosquitoes, and gazed at the setting sun
between half-closed lids. Pierre Lapierre was happy.

"Things are coming my way," he muttered. "With a year's stock in that
warehouse--and LeFroy to handle it--I guess the Indians won't pick up
many bargains--my people!--damn them! How I hate them. And as for
MacNair--lucky Vermilion thought of painting _his_ name on that
booze--I hated to smash it--but it paid. It was the one thing needed
to make me solid with _her_. And I've got time to run in another batch
if I hurry--got to get those rifles into the loft, too. When MacNair
hits, he hits hard."

Chloe appeared at the door with her letters. Lapierre took them, and
again bowed low over her hand. This time the girl was sure his lips
touched her finger-tips. He released the hand and stepped to the
ground.

"Good-bye," he said, "I shall try my utmost to pay you a visit before I
depart for the southward, but if I fail, remember to send LeFroy to me
at Fort Resolution."

"I will remember. Good-bye--_bon voyage_----"

"_Et prompt retour?_" The man's lips smiled, and his eyes flashed the
question.

"_Et prompt retour--certainement!_" answered the girl as, with a wide
sweep of his hat, the quarter-breed turned and made his way toward the
camp of the Indians, which was located in a spruce thicket a short
distance above the clearing. As he disappeared in the timber, Chloe
felt a sudden sinking of the heart; a strange sense of desertion, of
loneliness possessed her as she gazed into the deepening shadows of the
wall of the clearing. She fumed impatiently.

"Why should I care?" she muttered, "I never laid eyes on him until two
weeks ago, and besides, he's--he's an _Indian_! And yet--he's a
ge