d that make?"

"Ugh! Squaws and half-breeds!" His tone conveyed in full his utter
contempt.

The tiny hands of the boy and girl slid into her own as she arose. A
curiously startled look lay in her eyes, and an inquiring, plaintive
wrinkle came between her brows.

"I don't believe you understand," she said. "Lieutenant Burrell, this
is my sister, Molly Gale, and this is my little brother John." Both
round-eyed elfs made a ducking courtesy and blinked at the soldier, who
gained his feet awkwardly, a flush rising into his cheeks.

From the regions at the rear of the store came the voice of an Indian
woman calling:

"Necia! Necia!"

"Coming in a moment!" the girl called back; then, turning to the young
officer, she added, quietly: "Mother needs me now. Good-bye!"

CHAPTER II

POLEON DORET'S HAND IS QUICKER THAN HIS TONGUE

The trader's house sat back of the post, farther up on the hill. It was
a large, sleepy house, sprawling against the sunny side of the slope,
as if it had sought the southern exposure for warmth, and had dozed off
one sultry afternoon and never waked up from its slumber. It was of
great, square-hewn timbers, built in the Russian style, the under side
of each log hollowed to fit snugly over its fellow underneath, upon
which dried moss had previously been spread, till in effect the
foot-thick walls were tongued and grooved and, through years of
seasoning, become so tinder dry that no frosts or heats could penetrate
them. Many architects had worked on it as it grew, room by room,
through the years, and every man had left behind the mark of his
individuality, from Pretty Charlie the pilot, who swung an axe better
than any Indian on the river, to Larsen the ship's carpenter, who
worked with an adze and who starved the summer following on the
Koyukuk. It had stretched a bit year by year, for the trader's family
had been big in the early days when hunters and miners of both breeds
came in to trade, to loaf, and to swap stories with him. Through the
winter days, when the caribou were in the North and the moose were
scarce, whole families of natives came and camped there, for Alluna,
his squaw, drew to her own blood, and they felt it their due to eat of
the bounty of him who ruled them like an overlord; but when the first
goose honked they slipped away until, by the time the salmon showed,
the house was empty again and silent, save for Alluna and the
youngsters. In return these people brought h