, in a voice of suppressed
anger, "you may save yourself and me the trouble of more talk on this
subject. Your father has just been here wanting me to sell him this
knoll. Now, look here," (he rose, and stepping out of the smoking-box,
pointed to Angus Macdonald's house, which was full in view), "you see
that house, young man. Mark what I say. I will sell this knoll to your
father, and give my daughter to you, when you take that house, and with
your own unaided hands place it on the top of this knoll!"

This was meant by the old trader as a bitterly facetious way of
indicating the absolute hopelessness of the case. Ian accepted it in
that light, for he was well aware that Samuel Ravenshaw's firmness--or
obstinacy--was insurmountable. He did not despair, however; true love
never does that; but he felt tremendously cast down. Without a word or
look of reproach he turned and walked slowly away.

Once again the old trader sought comfort in his pipe, but found none.
Besides feeling extremely indignant; with the Macdonalds, father and
son, for what he styled their presumption, he was now conscious of
having treated both with undue severity. Dashing his pipe on the
ground, he thrust both hands into his coat pockets, and returned towards
his dwelling. On the way he unfortunately met Petawanaquat in one of
his fields, leaning composedly over a gate. That intelligent redskin
had not yet finished his inquiries at the missionary village. He had
appeared more than once at Willow Creek, and seemed to hover round the
old trader like a moth round a candle. The man was innocent of any evil
intent on this occasion, but Ravenshaw would have quarrelled with an
angel just then.

"What are you doing here? Be off!" he said sternly.

The Indian either did not or would not understand, and the old man,
seizing him by the arm, thrust him violently through the gateway.

All the hot blood of the Petawanaquats, from Adam downwards, seemed to
leap through the red man's veins and concentrate in his right hand as he
turned fiercely on the trader and drew his scalping-knife. Quick as
lightning Ravenshaw hit out with his fist, and knocked the Indian down,
then, turning on his heel, walked away.

For a moment Petawanaquat lay stunned. Recovering, he arose, and his
dark glittering eyes told of a purpose of deadly revenge. The trader
was still in sight. The Indian picked up his gun, glided swiftly behind
a tree, and took a long steady