ing. Selfridge was consumed with curiosity, and when
she and the boy got off at Kusiak, he could restrain himself no longer.
Gordon saw Wally talking with her. Meteetse showed him an envelope which
evidently had an address written upon it, for the little man pointed out
to her the direction in which she must go.

Since leaving Kusiak nearly two weeks before, no word had reached Gordon
of Sheba. As soon as he had finished dinner at the hotel, he walked out
to the Paget house and sent in his card.

Sheba came into the hall to meet him from the living-room where she had
been sitting with the man she expected to marry next week. She gave a
little murmur of pleasure at sight of him and held out both hands.

"I was afraid you weren't going to get back in time. I'm so glad," she
told him warmly.

He managed to achieve a smile. "When is the great day?"

"Next Thursday. Of course, we're as busy as can be, but Diane says--"

A ring at the door interrupted her. Sheba stepped forward and let in an
Indian woman with a little boy clinging to her hand.

"You Miss O'Neill?" she asked.

"Yes."

From the folds of her shawl she drew a letter. The girl glanced at the
address, then opened and read what was written. She looked up, puzzled,
first at the comely, flatfooted Indian woman and afterward at the
handsome little brown-faced papoose. She turned to Gordon.

"This letter says I am to ask this woman who is the father of her boy.
What does it mean?"

Gordon knew instantly what it meant, though he could not guess who had
dealt the blow. He hesitated for an answer, and in his embarrassment she
felt that which began to ring a bell of warning in her heart.

The impulse to spare her pain was stronger in him than the desire that
she should know the truth.

"Send her away," he urged. "Don't ask any questions. She has been sent
to hurt you."

A fawnlike fear flashed into the startled eyes. "To hurt me?"

"I am afraid so."

"But--why? I have done nobody any harm." She seemed to hold even her
breathing in suspense. Only a pulse beat wildly in her white throat like
the heart of an imprisoned thrush.

"Perhaps some of Macdonald's enemies," he suggested.

And at that there came a star-flash into the soft eyes and a lifted tilt
to the chin cut fine as a cameo. She turned proudly to the Indian woman.

"What is it that you have to tell me about this boy's father?"

Meteetse began to speak. At the first mention of Macdonald's name