ood stood
up. Just for a moment the white man stood gazing down the shadowed
trail. Then he moved off in the direction of his four-roomed log house.

Left alone the Indians remained at the fireside; Oolak--the
silent--indifferent to everything about him except the pleasant warmth
of the fire; Julyman, on the contrary, angrily alert. He was listening
to the sounds which grew momentarily louder and more distinct. And with
vicious relish he had already distinguished Hervey Garstaing's voice
amongst the rest. It was loud and harsh. How he hated it. How its tones
set the dark blood in his veins surging to his head.

"Why sure," he heard him say, "the boys did it good. They're bright
boys."

In his crude fashion the scout understood that the Agent was referring
to the evening's entertainment. It was the soft voice of Mrs. Ross which
replied, and Julyman welcomed the sound. All Indians loved the "med'cine
woman," as they affectionately called the doctor's wife.

"It was the best party we've had in a year," she cried enthusiastically.
"You wouldn't have known old Abe's saloon from a city hall at Christmas
time, with its decorations and its "cuddle-corners" all picked out with
Turkey red and evergreens. And you girls! My! you had a real swell time.
There were boys enough and to spare for you all. And they weren't the
sort to lose much time either. The lunch was real elegant, too, with the
oysters and the claret cup. My! it certainly was a swell party."

The wagon had drawn considerably nearer. The quick ears of the Indian
had no difficulty with the language of the white folk. His main source
of interest was the identity of those who were speaking. And, in
particular, he was listening for one voice which he had not as yet been
able to distinguish. Hervey Garstaing seemed to do most of the talking.
And how he hated the sound of that voice.

"Why, say, Dora," he heard him exclaim in good-natured protest, as the
outline of the team loomed up out of the distance. "I don't guess Mrs.
Allenwood and I sat out but two dances. Ain't that so, Nita?"

Julyman's ears suddenly pricked. He may have been an uncultured savage,
but he was a man, and very human. And the subtle inflection, as the
Agent addressed himself to Steve Allenwood's wife, was by no means lost
upon him.

"Three!"

The answer came in chorus from the two daughters of the doctor. And it
came with a giggle.

"Oh, if you're going to count a supper 'extra,' why--Anyway