w as if he did it just to give her time to get in
first. He admitted that he knew the Black Bear trail, and if he lied
about keeping his mouth shut to the squaw, he'd lie about other--"

"Wait wan minnit," interrupted Poleon, his voice as soft as a woman's.
"I tol' you dat _I_ know all 'bout dis Black Bear Creek, too--you
'member, eh? Wal, mebbe you t'ink I'm traitor, too. Wat? W'y don' you
spik out?"

The three of them were alone, and only the sound of Gale's axe came to
them; but at the light in the Canadian's face Runnion hastily
disclaimed any such thought on his part, and Stark shrugged his denial.

"I don' know you feller' at all," continued Poleon, "but Ole Man Gale,
he's my frien', so I guess you don' better talk no more lak' dat."

"Don't get sore," said Stark. "I simply say it looks bad." But the
other had turned his back and was walking on.

There are men quite devoid of the ability to read the human face, and
Runnion was of this species. Moreover, malice was so bitter in his
mouth that he must have it out, so when they paused to blaze the next
stake he addressed himself to Stark loud enough for Poleon to hear.

"That Lieutenant is more of a man than I thought he was."

"How so?" inquired the older man.

"Well, it takes nerve to steal a girl for one night and then face the
father; but the old man don't seem to mind it any more than she does. I
guess he knows what it means, all right."

Stark laughed raucously. "I thought of that myself," he said.

"That's probably how Gale got his squaw," concluded Runnion, with a
sneer.

It seemed a full minute before the Frenchman gave sign that he had
heard, then a strange cry broke from his throat and he began to tremble
as if with cold. He was no longer the singer of songs or the man who
was forever a boy; the mocking anger of a moment ago was gone; in its
place was a consuming fury that sucked the blood from beneath his tan,
leaving him the pallor of ashes, while his mouth twitched and his head
rolled slightly from side to side like a palsied old man's. The red of
his lips was blanched, leaving two white streaks against a faded, muddy
background, through which came strange and frightful oaths in a bastard
tongue. Runnion drew back, fearful, and the older man ceased chopping
and let his axe hang loosely in his hand. But evidently Poleon meant no
violence, for he allowed the passion to run from him freely until it
had spent its vigor, then said to Runnion: