e dressed as white women
dress. Not for nothing was her needlework at the Mission and her innate
artistry. She carried her clothes like a white woman, and she made
clothes that could be so carried.

In her way she was as unusual as her father, and the position she
occupied was as unique as his. She was the one Indian woman who was the
social equal with the several white women at Tana-naw Station. She was
the one Indian woman to whom white men honourably made proposals of
marriage. And she was the one Indian woman whom no white man ever
insulted.

For El-Soo was beautiful--not as white women are beautiful, not as Indian
women are beautiful. It was the flame of her, that did not depend upon
feature, that was her beauty. So far as mere line and feature went, she
was the classic Indian type. The black hair and the fine bronze were
hers, and the black eyes, brilliant and bold, keen as sword-light, proud;
and hers the delicate eagle nose with the thin, quivering nostrils, the
high cheek-bones that were not broad apart, and the thin lips that were
not too thin. But over all and through all poured the flame of her--the
unanalysable something that was fire and that was the soul of her, that
lay mellow-warm or blazed in her eyes, that sprayed the cheeks of her,
that distended the nostrils, that curled the lips, or, when the lip was
in repose, that was still there in the lip, the lip palpitant with its
presence.

And El-Soo had wit--rarely sharp to hurt, yet quick to search out
forgivable weakness. The laughter of her mind played like lambent flame
over all about her, and from all about her arose answering laughter. Yet
she was never the centre of things. This she would not permit. The
large house, and all of which it was significant, was her father's; and
through it, to the last, moved his heroic figure--host, master of the
revels, and giver of the law. It is true, as the strength oozed from
him, that she caught up responsibilities from his failing hands. But in
appearance he still ruled, dozing, ofttimes at the board, a bacchanalian
ruin, yet in all seeming the ruler of the feast.

And through the large house moved the figure of Porportuk, ominous, with
shaking head, coldly disapproving, paying for it all. Not that he really
paid, for he compounded interest in weird ways, and year by year absorbed
the properties of Klakee-Nah. Porportuk once took it upon himself to
chide El-Soo upon the wasteful way of life