omentary and unreasoning desire to cover his own
discomfiture by hurting some one took possession of him.

"I say, Gregg, I'm rather surprised to find you at this time of night,
alone with Miss Wiley. I don't think her sister would approve,
exactly. Since your affair with Naleenah, you know--" he finished the
sentence with a depreciatory shrug.

"_My_ affair with Naleenah! What do you mean?" The young man took a
quick step toward him.

"Oh, now, don't get excited, Gregg. You were drunk, of course, but you
must remember she took you home and spent the last night of her life
with you. The whole post saw you two go off together the night the
_Hoonah_ came in. Boreland has heard the talk, of course. Too bad, my
boy," the Chief put his hand on the astonished young fellow's shoulder,
"too bad, I say, that after all your fastidious virtue you have the
reputation of being a squaw-man." Kilbuck laughed his short, sardonic
laugh.

"_She_ thinks I'm a squaw-man?" Gregg indicated the disappearing
figure of Jean. His voice was sharp with hurt amazement, indignation,
and the grasp of his hand on the Chief's arm made that gentleman wince.

"All of them do, my boy. _All_ of them. But----"

"Now I begin to understand," Harlan broke in bitterly. With a muttered
imprecation he flung himself into the trail and walked toward the
courtyard where a light shone palely from Kayak Bill's window. The
White Chief looked after him until he vanished. Gregg had been sober
for a week now, but if Kilbuck was any judge of indications, the
bookkeeper's sobriety was at an end. As the trader turned toward the
beach and walked to the canoes now landing in the dusk, he smiled to
think how neatly he had nipped in the bud any possible romance between
Gregg and Jean.

Two hours later in the loft above Kilbuck's living quarters Jean was
kneeling at a tiny window looking up at the ridge where dark spruce
trees peaked a line against the night sky. It was a strange guest
chamber pungent with a faint, unforgetable odor from fox pelts dangling
from the rafters, bear hides tacked to the slanting roof, and rows of
smoked salmon and dried cod hanging from lines along the sides. Loll
lay fast asleep on his small floor-pallet, his face half-buried in his
pillow, his mouth reverted to the pout of babyhood. The door leading
to Ellen's room--the only real room in the loft, was partly open. Jean
rose and closed it, took up her violin from her own