Sheba's eyes dilated. Her smile, her sweet, glad pleasure at Gordon's
arrival, were already gone like the flame of a blown candle. Clearly her
heart was a-flutter, in fear of she knew not what. When the Indian woman
told how she had first crossed the path of Macdonald, the color flamed
into the cheeks of the Irish girl, but as the story progressed, the
blood ebbed even from her lips.

With a swift movement of her fingers she flashed on the hall light. Her
gaze searched the brown, shiny face of the little chap. She read there
an affidavit of the truth of his mother's tale. The boy had his father's
trick of squinting a slant look at anything he found interesting. It was
impossible to see him and not recognize Colby Macdonald reincarnated.

"What is your name?" asked Sheba suddenly.

The youngster hung back shyly among the folds of the Indian woman's
skirt. "Colmac," he said at last softly.

"Come!" Sheba flung open the door of the living-room and ushered them
in.

Macdonald, pacing restlessly up and down the room during her absence,
pulled up in his stride. He stood frowning at the native woman, then his
eyes passed to Elliot and fastened upon him. The face of the Scotchman
might have been chipped from granite. It was grim as that of a hanging
judge.

Gordon started to explain, then stopped with a shrug. What was the use?
The man would never believe him in the world.

"I'll remember this," the Alaskan promised his rival. There was a cold
glitter in his eyes, a sudden flare of the devil that was
blood-chilling.

"It's true, then," broke in Sheba. "You're a--a squawman. You belong to
this woman."

"Nothing of the kind," he cried roughly. "That's been ended for years."

"Ended?" Sheba drew Colmac forward by the wrist. "Do you deny that this
is your boy?"

The big Alaskan brushed this aside as of no moment. "I dare say he is.
Anyhow I'm paying for his keep. What of it? That's all finished and done
with."

"How can it be done with when--when she's the mother of your child, your
wife before God?" The live eyes attacked him from the dusk that framed
the oval of her pale face. Standing there straight as an aspen, the
beautiful bosom rising and falling quickly while the storm waves beat
through her blood, Sheba O'Neill had never made more appeal to the
strong, lawless man who desired her for his wife.

"You don't understand." Macdonald's big fists were clenched so savagely
that the knuckles stood out white from t