hat covered the gold; then I thought I heard her catch her
breath with surprise. But she turned back with an exquisite lithe grace
that made me catch mine, and slid down in her seat as if she had never
slid out of it.

"It's a bottle," she said lightly. But it was with a kind of startled
puzzle too, as if she had sooner expected dynamite. "I can't think why;
I mean, I wonder what's in it!"

"A bottle!" I jerked around to stare at a whisky bottle in her hands. It
was tightly sealed and full of something colorless that looked like gin.
I was just going to say I could not see where it had come from, seeing I
had packed the wagon myself, and I would have gone bail there was no
bottle in it. But it came over me that she might be pretending
astonishment and have put the thing there herself while I was in my room
getting my revolver; since there had been no one else near my wagon but
Macartney, and he could not have left the horses' heads. It flashed on
me that the baby beside me, being used to Dudley, might have drugged a
little gin, thinking I would take various drinks on the way; and I
nearly laughed out. But I said: "Back there was no place for a bottle.
It's a wonder it didn't smash on the first bump!"

"Yes," said Paulette slowly. "Only I wonder--I mean I can't see----" and
she paused, staring at the bottle with a thoughtful sort of frown. "I
believe I'll hold it on my lap."

I was looking at the bottle too, where she held it with both fur-gloved
hands; and I forgot to wonder if she were lying about it or not. For
the gloves she wore were Dudley Wilbraham's, as well as the coat,--and
that any of Dudley's things should be on my dream girl put me in a
black, senseless fury. I wanted to take them straight off her and wrap
her up in my own belongings. I grabbed at anything to say that would
keep my tongue from telling her to change coats with me that instant,
and the bottle in her hand was the only thing that occurred to me. It
brought a sudden recollection back to me anyhow, and I opened my lips
quite easily.

"Scott, that looks like some of the brew I spilled over my clothes at
Skunk's Misery!"

"Skunk's Misery!" Paulette exclaimed sharply. "What on earth is Skunk's
Misery?"

"A village--at least, a den--of dirt, chiefly; off this road, between
Caraquet and Lac Tremblant." I was thankful to have something to think
about that was neither her, or me, or Dudley. I made as long a story as
I could of my stay in Skunk's