he Canadian, after a moment. "I'll mak'
bargain wit' you now. If he say yes, he'll marry you, I don' ask no
more; but if he say no, you geeve 'im to me. Is it go?"

She hesitated, while he continued, musingly, "I don' see how no man on
all dis worl' could lef' you go." Then to her, "Wal, is it bargain?"

"Yes," she said, the Indian blood speaking now; "but you must learn the
truth, there must be no mistake--that would be terrible."

"Dere ain' goin' be no mistak'."

"If he should refuse, I--I'll marry SOME one, quick. I won't be laughed
at by this camp; I won't be a joke. Oh, Poleon! I've given myself to
him just as truly as if--well, he--he has taken my first kiss."

Doret smote his hands together at this and began to roll his head
backward from side to side, as if in some great pain, but his lips were
dry and silent. After a moment the spell left him, the fire died down,
leaving only a dumb agony in its place. She came closer and continued:

"I'll never let them point at me and say, 'There goes the squaw
that--he threw away.'"

"You mak' dis very hard t'ing for me," he said, wearily.

"Listen," she went on, lashing herself with pity and scorn. "You say
Father Barnum will be here on Sunday. Well--I'll marry some one, I
don't care who!" Then, with a sudden inspiration, she cried, "I'll
marry you--you said I could be a wife to you."

He uttered a sharp cry. "You mean dat, Necia?"

"Yes," she declared. "Why not? You'll do it for my sake, won't you?"

"Would you stan' up wit' me 'longside of de pries', lovin' dat oder
feller all de tam'?" he asked, queerly.

"Yes, YES! I'd rather it was you than anybody, but married I'll be on
Sunday. I'll never let them laugh at me."

Doret held his silence for a moment, then he looked up and said, in
level tones:

"It's easy t'ing for go an' ask 'im, but you mus' hear hees answer wit'
your own ears--den you can't t'ink I'm lyin'. I'll fetch 'im 'ere on
dis place if you feex it for hide you'se'f behin' dose post." He
indicated a bundle of furs that were suspended against a pillar, and
which offered ample room for concealment. "Dere's goin' be no lies
to-day."

He pulled himself together and went out, with the tired gait of an old
man, his great shock head bowed low. A few moments later he returned.

"I've sent li'l' Jean for 'im. You get in dere out of sight--an' wait."

CHAPTER XII

A TANGLED SKEIN

When Burrell entered he wasted no time in greetings.

"I