ench youth.

"The deuce I will," he returned, twisting the paper up in his clenched
fist. Half in jest, half in earnest, just as Louis used to be punished
at the seminary, she gave him a prompt box on the ear. He took it in
perfect good-nature. And the whole encampment laughed. The squaw went
back to the other side of the fire. Laplante leaned forward and threw
the paper towards the flames; but without his knowledge, he overshot the
mark; and when the trader was looking elsewhere the big squaw stooped,
picked up the coveted note and slipped it into her skirt pocket.

"Now, Louis, nonsense aside," I began.

"With all my soul, if I have one," said he, lying back languidly with a
perceptible cooling of the cordiality he had first evinced.

I told him my errand, and that I wished to search every wigwam for trace
of the lost woman and child. He listened with shut eyes.

"It isn't," I explained in a low voice, eager to arouse his interest,
"it isn't in the least, Laplante, that we suspect these people; but you
know the kidnappers might have traded the clothing to your people----"

"Oh! Go ahead!" he interjected impatiently. "Don't beat round the bush!
What do you want of me?"

"To go through the tents with me and help me. By Jove! Laplante! I
thought at least a spark of the man would suggest that without my
speaking," I broke out hotly.

He was on his feet with an alacrity that brought old Paul Larocque round
to my side and the squaw to his.

"Curse you," he cried out roughly, shoving the squaw back. For a moment
I was uncertain whether he were addressing the woman or myself. "You
mind your own business and go to your Indian! Here, Gillespie, I'll do
the tents with you. Get off with you," he muttered at the squaw,
rumbling out a lingo of persuasive expletives; and he led the way to the
first wigwam.

But the squaw was not to be dismissed; for when I followed the
Frenchman, she closed in behind looking thunder, not at her abuser, but
at me; and The Mute, fearing foul play and pole in hand, loyally brought
up the rear of our strange procession. I shall not retail that search
through robes and skins and blankets and boxes, in foul-smelling,
vermin-infested wigwams. It was fruitless. I only recall the lowering
face of the big squaw looking over my shoulder at every turn, with
heavy brows contracted and gashed lips grinning an evil, malicious
challenge. I thought she kept her hands uncomfortably near the ivory
handle i