d. Each
had the air of having parted but a few minutes before. Bela had
learned Musq'oosis's own manner from him. If he wouldn't ask
questions, neither would she volunteer information. Thus the two
friends played the little comedy out.

Sitting at the door of his teepee, Bela said: "Let me eat. I have
nothing since I get up to-day."

He put bread and smoked moose meat before her, and went on knotting
his cords with an unconcerned air.

By and by Bela began to tell her story with the sullen, self-conscious
air of a child expecting a scolding. But as she went on she was
carried away by it, and her voice became warm and broken with emotion.
Musq'oosis, working away, gave no sign, but the still turn of his head
persuaded her he was not missing anything.

When she came to tell how she had fallen upon Sam while he slept the
old man was betrayed into a sharp movement.

"What for you do that?" he demanded.

Bela came to a pause and hung her head. Tears dropped on her hands. "I
don' know," she murmured. "He look so pretty sleepin' on the sand--so
pretty! Moon shine in his face. I am pain in my heart. Don' know w'at
to do, want him so bad. I t'ink I die if I got go 'way wit'out him. I
t'ink--I don' know w'at I t'ink. Want him, that's all!"

"Tcha! White woman!" said Musq'oosis disgustedly.

During the rest of the tale he muttered and frowned and wagged his
head impatiently. When she came to the scene of the hearing in
Gagnon's shack he could no longer contain himself.

"Fool!" he cried. "I tell you all w'at to do. Many times I tell you
not let a man see you want him. But you go ask him marry you before
all the people! What you come to me for now?"

Bela hung her head in silence.

"You got white woman's sickness!" cried the old man with quaint scorn.
"Tcha! _Love!_"

"Well, I am 'mos' white," muttered Bela sullenly. "Why you not tell
me 'bout this sickness? Then I look out."

"There is no cure for a fool," growled Musq'oosis.

Bela finally raised her head.

"I am cure of my sickness now," she said, scowling. "I hate him!"

"Hate!" said the old man scornfully. "Your face is wet."

She dashed the tears from her cheeks. "When he ran out of Johnny
Gagnon's," she went on, "I run after. I hold on him. He curse me. He
throw me down. Since then I hate him. I lak make him hurt lak me. I
want see him hurt bad!"

The old man looked incredulous. Questioning her sharply, he drew out
the incident of the dead goose. He la