ive his words
a proper effect, "we have a first-class mystery on hand just at
present."

"Oh, tell me all about it!" she said, as he meant her to.

"A fellow, a white man, has appeared from nowhere at all, and set
himself up beside the Swan River, an unexplored stream away to the
north-west of here. There he is, and no one knows how he got there.
We've never laid eyes on him, but the Indians bring us marvellous tales
of his 'strong medicine,' meaning magic, you know. They say he first
appeared from under the great falls of the Swan River. They describe him
as a sort of embodiment of the voice of the Falls, but we suspect there
is a more natural explanation, because he sends into the post for the
food of common humans, and gets a bundle of magazines and papers by
every mail. They come addressed to Doctor Ernest Imbrie. Our poor Doc
here is as jealous as a cat of his reputation as a healer!"

Gaviller was rewarded with a general laugh, in which her silvery tones
were heard.

"Oh, tell me more about him!" she cried.

Of all the men who were watching her there was not one who observed any
change in her face. Afterwards they remembered this with wonder. Yet
there was something in her voice, her manner, the way she kept her chin
up perhaps, that caused each man to think as her essential quality:

"She's game!"

The whole story of Imbrie as they knew it was told, with all the
embroidery that had been unconsciously added during the past months.

CHAPTER IV

MORE ABOUT CLARE

Determined to make the most of their rare feminine visitation at Fort
Enterprise, on the following day the fellows got up a chicken hunt on
the river bottom east of the post, to be followed by an _al fresco_
supper at which broiled chicken was to be the _piece de resistance_. The
ladies didn't shoot any prairie chicken, but they stimulated the hunters
with their presence, and afterwards condescended to partake of the
delicate flesh.

Stonor, though he was largely instrumental in getting the thing up, and
though he worked like a Trojan to make the affair go, still kept himself
personally in the background. He consorted with Captain Stinson and
Mathews, middle-aged individuals who were considered out of the running.
It was not so much shyness now, as an instinct of self-preservation.
"She'll be gone in a week," he told himself. "You mustn't let this thing
get too strong a hold on you, or life here after she has gone will be
hellish. You