"I know what you mean—that I must tell you about—about how I came here, and all; but I won't!" she burst out. "I'll die here before I do! I hated the people they said were my people. I was glad when they were dead—glad—glad! Oh, you'll say it's wicked to think that way about relatives. Maybe it is, but it's natural if they've always been wicked to you. I'll go to the bad place, I reckon, for feeling this way, and I'll just have to go, for I can't feel any other way."

"'Tana—'Tana!" and his hand fell on her shoulder, as though to shake her away from so wild a mood. "You are only a girl yet. When you are older, you will be ashamed to say you ever hated your parents—whoever they were—your mother!"

"I ain't saying anything about her," she answered bitterly. "She died before I can mind. I've been told she was a lady. But I won't ever use the name again she used. I—I want to start square with the world, if I leave these Indians, and I can't do it unless I change my name and try to forget the old one. It has a curse on it—it has."

She was trembling with nervousness, and her eyes, though tearless, were stormy and rebellious.

"You'll think I'm bad, because I talk this way," she continued, "but I ain't—I ain't. I've fought when I had to, and—and I'd swear—sometimes; but that's all the bad I ever did do. I won't any more if you take me with you. I—I can cook and keep house for you, if you hain't got folks of your own, and—I do want to go with you."

"Come, love! come! Won't you go along with me? And I'll take you back To old Tennessee!"

The words of the handsome singer came clearly back to them. Overton, about to speak, heard the words of the song, and a little smile, half-bitter, half-sad, touched his lips as he looked at her.

"I see," he said, quietly, "you care more about going to-day, than you did when I talked to you last night. Well, that's all right. And I reckon you can make coffee for me as long as you like. That mayn't be long, though, for some of the young fellows will be wanting you to keep house for them before many years, and you'll naturally do it. How old are you?"

"I'm—past sixteen," she said, in a deprecating way, as though ashamed of her years and her helplessness. "I'm old enough to work, and I will work if I get where it's any use trying. But I won't keep house for any one but you."

"Won't you?" he asked, doubtfully. "Well, I've an idea you may. But we'll talk about that when the time comes. This morning I wanted to talk of something else before we start—you and Max and I—down into Idaho. I'm not asking the name of the man you hate so; but if I am to acknowledge him as an old acquaintance of mine, you had better tell me what business he was in. You see, it might save complications if any one should run across us some day and know."

"No one will know me," she said, decidedly. "If I didn't know that, I'd stay right here, I think. And as to him, my fond parent," and she made a grimace—"I guess you can call him a prospector and speculator—either of those would be correct. I think they called him Jim, when he was christened."

"Akkomi said last night you had been on the trail hunting for some one. Was it a friend, or—or any one I could help you look for?"

"No, it wasn't a friend, and I'm done with the search and glad of it. Did you," she added, looking at him darkly, "ever put in time hunting for any one you didn't want to find?"

Without knowing it, Miss Rivers must have touched on a subject rather sensitive to her guardian, for his face flushed, and he gazed at her with a curious expression in his eyes.

"Maybe I have, little girl," he said at last. "I reckon I know how to let your troubles alone, anyway, if I can't help them. But I must tell you, Max—Max Lyster, you know—will be the only one very curious about your presence here—as to the route you came, etc. You had better be prepared for that."

"It won't be very hard," she answered, "for I came over from Sproats' Landing, up to Karlo, and back down here."

"Over from Sproats—you?" he asked, looking at her nervously. "I heard nothing of a white girl making that trip. When, and how did you do it?"

"Two weeks ago, and on foot," was the laconic reply. "As I had only a paper of salt and some matches, I couldn't afford to travel in high style, so I footed it. I had a ring and a blanket, and I traded them up at Karlo for an old tub of a dugout, and got here in that."

"You had some one with you?"

"I was alone."

Overton looked at her with more of amazement than she had yet inspired in him. He thought of that indescribably wild portage trail from the Columbia to the Kootenai. When men crossed it, they preferred to go in company, and this slip of a girl had dared its loneliness, its dangers alone. He thought of the stories of death, by which the trail was haunted; of prospectors who had verged from that dim path and had been lost in the wilderness, where their bones were found by Indians or white hunters long after; of strange stories of wild beasts; of all the weird sounds of the jungles; of places where a misstep would send one lifeless to the jagged feet of huge precipices. And through that trail of terror she had walked—alone!

"I have nothing more to ask," he said briefly. "But it is not necessary to tell any of the white people you meet that you made the trip alone."

"I know," she said, humbly, "they'd think it either wasn't true—or—or else that it oughtn't to be true. I know how they'd look at me and whisper things. But if—if you believe me—"

She paused uncertainly, and looked up at him. All the rebellion and passion had faded out of her eyes now: they were only appealing. What a wild, changeable creature she was with those quick contrasts of temper! wild as the name she bore—Montana—the mountains. Something like that thought came into his mind as he looked at her.

He had gathered other wild things from his trips into the wilderness; young bears with which to enliven camp life; young fawns that he had loved and cared for, because of the beauty of eyes and form; even a pair of kittens had been carried by him across into the States, and developed into healthy, marauding panthers. One of these had set its teeth through the flesh of his hand one day ere he could conquer and kill it, and his fawns, cubs and smaller pets had drifted from him back to their forests, or else into the charge of some other prospector who had won their affections.

He remembered them, and the remembrance lent a curious character to the smile in his eyes, as he held out his hand to her.

"I do believe you, for it is only cowards who tell lies; and I don't believe you'd make a good coward—would you?"

She did not answer, but her face flushed with pleasure, and she looked up at him gratefully. He seemed to like that better than words.

"Akkomi called you 'Girl-not-Afraid,'" he continued. "And if I were a redskin, too, I would look up an eagle feather for you to wear in your hair. I reckon you've heard that only the braves dare wear eagle feathers."

"I know, but I—"

"But you have earned them by your own confession," he said, kindly, "and some day I may run across them for you. In the meantime, I have only this."

He held out a beaded belt of Indian manufacture, a pretty thing, and she opened her eyes in glad surprise, as he offered it to her.

"For me? Oh, Dan!—Mr. Overton—I—"

She paused, confused at having called him as the Indians called him; but he smiled understandingly.

"We'll settle that name business right here," he suggested. "You call me Dan, if it comes easier to you. Just as I call you 'Tana. I don't know 'Mr. Overton' very well myself in this country, and you needn't trouble yourself to remember him. Dan is shorter. If I had a sister, she'd call me Dan, I suppose; so I give you license to do so. As to the belt, I got it, with some other plunder, from some Columbia River reds, and you use it. There is some other stuff in Akkomi's tepee you'd better put on, too; it's new stuff—a whole dress—and I think the moccasins will about fit you. I brought over two pairs, to make sure. Now, don't get any independent notions in your head," he advised, as she looked at him as though about to protest. "If you go to the States as my ward, you must let me take the management of the outfit. I got the dress for an army friend of mine, who wanted it for his daughter; but I guess it will about fit you, and she will have to wait until next trip. Now, as I've settled our business, I'll be getting back across the river, so until to-morrow, klahowya."

She stood, awkward and embarrassed, before him. No words would come to her lips to thank him. She had felt desolate and friendless for so long, and now when his kindness was so great, she felt as if she should cry if she spoke at all. Just as she had cried the night before at his compassionate tones and touch.

Suddenly she bent forward for the belt, and with some muttered words he could not distinguish, she grasped his big hand in her little brown fingers, and touching it with her lips, twice—thrice—turned and ran away as swiftly as the little Indians who had run on the shore.

The warm color flushed all over Dan's face, as he looked after her. Of course, she was only a little girl, but he was devoutly glad Max was not in sight. Max would not have understood aright. Then his eyes traveled back to his hand, where her mouth had touched it. Her kiss had fallen where the scar of the panther's teeth was.

And this, also, was a wild thing he was taking from the forests!



CHAPTER V.

AT SINNA FERRY.

"It has been young wolves, an' bears, an' other vicious pets—every formed thing, but snakes or redskins, and at last it's that!"

"Tush, tush, captain! Now, it's not so bad. Why, I declare, now, I was kind of pleased when I got sight of her. She's white, anyway, and she's right smart."

"Smart!" The captain sniffed, dubiously. "We'll get a chance to see about that later on, Mrs. Huzzard. But it's like your—hem! tender heart to have a good word for all comers, and this is only another proof of it."

"Pshaw! Now, you're making game, I guess. That's what you're up to, captain," and Mrs. Huzzard attempted a chaste blush and smile, and succeeded in a smirk. "I'm sure, now, that to hem a few neckties an' sich like for you is no good reason for thinking I'm doing the same for every one that comes around. No, indeed; my heart ain't so tender as all that."

The captain, from under his sandy brows, looked with a certain air of satisfaction at the well rounded personality of Mrs. Huzzard. His vanity was gently pleased—she was a fine woman!

"Well, I mightn't like it so well myself if I thought you'd do as much for any man," he acknowledged. "There's too many men at the Ferry who ain't fit even to eat one of the pies you make."

Mrs. Huzzard was fluting the edge of a pie at that moment, and looked across the table at the captain, with arch meaning.

"Maybe so; but there's a right smart lot of fine-looking fellows among them, too; there's no getting around that."

The unintelligible mutter of disdain that greeted her words seemed to bring a certain comfort to her widowed heart, for she smiled brightly and flipped the completed pie aside, with an airy grace.

"Now—now, Captain Leek, you can't be expecting common grubbers of men to have all the advantages of manners that you've got. No, sir; you can't. They hain't had the bringing up. They hain't had the schooling, and they hain't had the soldier drills to teach them to carry themselves like gentlemen. Now, you've had all that, and it's a sight of profit to you. But don't be too hard on the folks that ain't jest so finished like as you. There's that new Rivers girl, now—she ain't a bad sort, though it is queer to see your boy Dan toting such a stranger into camp, for he never did seem to take to girls much—did he?"

"It's not so easy to tell what he's taken to in his time," returned the captain, darkly. "You know he isn't my own boy, as I told you before. He was eight years old when I married his mother, and after her death he took the bit in his own teeth, and left home. No great grief to me, for he wasn't a tender boy to manage!" And Captain Leek heaved a sigh for the martyrdom he had lived through.

"Oh, well, but see what a fine man he's turned out, and I'm sure no own son could be better to you," for Mrs. Huzzard was one of the large, comfortable bodies, who never see any but the brightest side of affairs, and a good deal of a peacemaker in the little circle where she had taken up her abode. "Indeed, now, captain, you'll not meet many such fine fellows in a day's tramp."

"If she'd even been a real Indian," he continued, discontentedly, "it would have been easier to manage her—to—to put her in some position where she could earn her own living; for by Dan's words (few enough, too!) I gather that she has no money back of her. She'll be a dead weight on his hands, that's what she'll be, and an expensive savage he'll find her, I'll prophesy."

"Like enough. Young ones of any sort do take a heap of looking after. But she's smart, as I said before, and I do think it's a sight better to make room for a likely young girl than to be scared most to death with young wolves and bears tied around for pets. I was all of a shiver at night on account of them. I'll take the girl every time. She won't scratch an' claw at folks, anyway."

"Maybe not," added the captain, who was too contented with his discontent to let go of it at once. "But no telling what a young animal like that may develop into. She has no idea whatever of duty, Mrs. Huzzard, or of—of veneration. She contradicted me squarely this morning when I made some comment about those beastly redskins; actually set up her ignorance against my years of service under the American flag, Mrs. Huzzard. Yes, madame! she did that," and Captain Leek arose in his wrath and tramped twice across the room, halting again near her table and staring at her as though defying her to justify that.

When he arose, one could see by the slight unsteadiness in his gait that the cane in his hand was for practical use. His limp was not a deformity—in fact, it made him rather more interesting because of it; people would notice or remember him when nothing else in his personality would cause them to do so.

For Captain Alphonso Leek was not a striking-looking personage. His blue eyes had a washed-out, querulous expression. His sandy whiskers had the appearance of having been blown back from his chin, and lodged just in front of his ears. An endeavor had been made to train the outlying portions of his mustache in line with the lengthy, undulating "mutton chops;" but they had, for well-grounded reasons, failed to connect, and the effect was somewhat spoiled by those straggling skirmishers, bristling with importance but waiting in vain for recruits. The top of his head had got above timber line and glistened in the sun of early summer that streamed through the clear windows of Mrs. Huzzard's back room.

But as that head was generally covered by a hat that sported a cord and tassel, and as his bulging breastbone was covered by a dark-blue coat and vest, on which the brass buttons shone in real military fashion—well, all those things had their weight in a community where few men wore a coat at all in warm weather.

Mrs. Huzzard, in the depths of her being, thought it would be a fine thing to go back to Pennsylvania as "Mrs. Captain," even if the captain wasn't as forehanded as she'd seen men.

Even the elegant way in which he could do nothing and yet diffuse an air of importance, was impressive to her admiring soul. The clerical whiskers and the military dress completed the conquest.

But Mrs. Huzzard, having a bit of native wisdom still left, knew he was a man who would need managing, and that the best way was not to let his opinion rule her in all things; therefore, she only laughed cheerily at his indignation.

"Well, captain, I can't say but she did flare up about the Indians, when you said they were all thieves and paupers, stealing from the Government, and all that. But then, by what she says, she has knowed some decent ones in her time—friends of hers; an' you know any one must say a good word for a friend. You'd do that yourself."

"Maybe; I don't say I wouldn't," he agreed. "But I do say, the friends would not be redskins. No, madame! They're no fit friends for a gentleman to cultivate; and so I have told Dan. And if this girl owns such friends, it shows plainly enough that the class she belongs to is not a high one. Dan's mother was a lady, Mrs. Huzzard! She was my wife, madame! And it is a distress for me to see any one received into our family who does not come up to that same level. That is just the state of the case, and I maintain my position in the matter; let Dan take on all the temper he likes about it."

The lady of the pies did not respond to his remarks at once. She had an idea that she herself might fall under the ban of Captain Leek's discriminating eyes, and be excluded from that upper circle of chosen humanity to which he was born and bred. He liked her pies, her flap-jacks, and even the many kinds of boiled dinners she was in the habit of preparing and garnishing with "dumplings." So far as his stomach was concerned, she could rule supreme, for his digestion was of the best and her "filling" dishes just suited him. But Lorena Jane Huzzard had read in the papers some romances of the "gentle folk" he was fond of speaking of in an intimate way. The gentle folk in her kind of stories always had titles, military or civil, and were generally English lords and ladies; the villains, as generally, were French or Italian. But think as she might over the whole list, she could remember none in which the highbred scion of blue blood had married either a cook or a milliner. One might marry the milliner if she was very young and madly beautiful, but Lorena Jane was neither. She remembered also that beautiful though the milliner or bailiff's daughter, or housekeeper's niece might be, it was only the villain in high life who married her. Then the marriage always turned out at last to be a sham, and the milliner generally died of a broken heart.

So Mrs. Huzzard sighed and, with a thoughtful face, stirred up the batter pudding.

Captain Leek had given her food for reflection of which he was little aware, and it was quite a little while before she remembered to answer his remarks.

"So Mr. Dan is showing temper, too, is he? Well—well—that's a pity. He's a good boy, captain. I wouldn't waste my time to go against him, if I was you, and there he is now. Good-morning, Mr. Dan! Come right in! Breakfast over, but I'll get you up a bite at any time, and welcome. It does seem right nice for you to be back in town again."

Overton entered at her bidding, and smiled down from his tall stature to the broad, good-natured face she turned to him.

"Breakfast! Why, I'm thinking more about dinner, Mrs. Huzzard. I was up in the hills last night, and had a camp breakfast before you city folks were stirring. Where's 'Tana?"

A dubious sniff from Captain Leek embarrassed Mrs. Huzzard for a moment. She thought he meant to answer and hesitated to give him a chance. But the sniff seemed to express all he wanted to say, and she flushed a little at its evident significance.

"Well, what's the matter now?" demanded the younger man, impatiently, "where is she—do you know?"

"Oh—why, yes—of course we do," said Mrs. Huzzard hurriedly. "I didn't mean to leave you without an answer—no, indeed. But the fact is, the captain is set against something I did this morning, but I do hope you won't be. Whatever they know or don't know in sussiety, the girl was ignorant of it as could be when she asked to go, and so was I when I let her. That's the gospel truth, and I do hope you won't have hard feeling against me for it."

He came a step nearer them both, and looked keenly from one to the other—even a little threateningly into the watchful eyes of Captain Leek.

"Let her go! What do you mean? Where—Out with it!"

"Well, then, it was on the river she went, in one of them tiltuppy Indian boats that I'm deathly afraid of. But Mr. Lyster, he did promise faithfully he'd take good care of her. And as she'd seemed a bit low-spirited this morning, I thought it 'ud do her good, and I part told her to run along. And to think of its being improper for them to go together—alone! Well, then, I never did—that's all!"

"Is it?" and Overton drew a long breath as of relief and laughed shortly. "Well, you are perfectly right, Mrs. Huzzard. There is nothing wrong about it, and don't you be worried into thinking there is. Max Lyster is a gentleman—didn't you ever happen to know one, dad? Heavens! what a sinner you must have been in your time, if you can't conceive two young folks going out for an innocent boat ride. If any 'sky pilot' drifts up this way, I'll explain your case to him—and ask for some tracts. Why, man, your conscience must be a burden to you! I understand, now, how it comes I find your hair a little scarcer each time I run back to camp."

He had seated himself, and leaning back, surveyed the irate captain as though utterly oblivious of that gentleman's indignation, and then turned his attention to Mrs. Huzzard, who was between two fires in her regret that the captain should be ridiculed and her joy in Overton's commendation of herself. The captain had dismayed her considerably by a monologue on etiquette while she was making the pies, and she had inwardly hoped that the girl and her handsome escort would return before Overton, for vague womanly fears had been awakened in her heart by the opinions of the captain. To be sure, Dan never did look at girls much, and he was as "settled down" as any old man yet. The girl was pretty, and there was a bit of mystery about her. Who could tell what her guardian intended her for? This question had been asked by Captain Leek. Dan was very close-lipped about her, and his reticence had intensified the mystery regarding his ward. Mrs. Huzzard had seen wars of extermination started for a less worthy reason than pretty Montana, and so she had done some quiet fretting over the question until 'Tana's guardian set her free from worries by his hearty words.

"Don't you bother your precious head, or 'Tana's, with ideas of what rules people live by in a society of the cities thousands of miles away," he advised her. "It's all right to furnish guards or chaperons where people are so depraved as to need them."

This with a turn of his eyes to the captain, who was gathering himself up with a great deal of dignity.

"Good-morning, Mrs. Huzzard," he said, looking with an unapproachable air across Dan's tousled head. "If my stepson at times forgets what is due a gentleman in your house, do not fancy that I reflect on you in the slightest for it. I regret that he entertains such ideas, as they are totally at variance with the rules by which he was reared. Good-morning, madame."

Mrs. Huzzard clasped her hands and gazed with reproach at Overton, but at the same time she could not repress a sigh of relief.

"Well, now, he is good-natured to take it like that, and speak so beautiful," she exclaimed, admiringly; "and you surely did try any man's patience, Mr. Dan. Shame on you!"

But Dan only laughed and held up his finger warningly.

"You'll marry that man some day, if I don't put a stop to this little mutual admiration society I find here on my return," he said, and caught her sleeve as she tried to pass him. "Now don't you do it, Mrs. Huzzard. You are too nice a woman and too much of a necessity to this camp for any one man to build up a claim for you. Just think what will happen if you do marry him! Why, you'll be my stepmother! Doesn't the prospect frighten you?"

"Oh, stop your nonsense, Mr. Dan! I declare you do try a body's patience. You are too big to send to bed without your supper, or I vow I'd try it and see if it would tame you any. The captain is surely righteous mad."

"Then let him attend to his postoffice instead of interfering with your good cooking. Jim Hill said yesterday he guessed the postoffice had moved to your hotel, and the boys all ask me when the wedding is to be."

She blushed with a certain satisfaction, but tossed her head provokingly.

"Well, now, you can just tell them it won't be this week, Mr. Dan Overton; so you can quit your plaguing. Who knows but they may be asking the same about you, if you keep fetching such pretty girls into camp? Oh, I guess you don't like bein' plagued any more than other folks."

For Overton's smile had vanished at her words, and a tiny wrinkle crept between his brows. But when she commented on it, he recovered himself, and answered carelessly:

"But I don't think I will keep on bringing pretty girls into camp—that is, I scarcely think it will grow into a steady habit," he said, and met her eyes so steadily that she dismissed all idea of any heart interest in the girl. "But I'd rather 'Tana didn't hear any chaff of that sort. You know what I mean. The boys, or any one, is like enough to joke about it at first; but when they learn 'for keeps,' that I'm not a marrying man, they'll let up. As she grows older, there'll be enough boys to bother her in camp without me. All I want is to see that she is looked after right; and that's what I'm in here to talk about this morning."

"Well, now, I'm right glad to help you all I can—which ain't much, maybe, for I never did have a sight of schooling. But I can learn her the milliner trade—though it ain't much use at the Ferry yet; but it's always a living, anyway, for a woman in a town. And as to cookin' and bakin'—"

"Oh, yes; they are all right; she will learn such things easily, I think! But I wanted to ask about that cousin of yours—the lady who, you said, wanted to come out from Ohio to teach Indians and visit you. Is she coming?"

"Well, she writes like it. She is a fine scholar, Lavina is; but I kind o' let up on asking her to come after I struck this camp, for she always held her head high, I hear, and wouldn't be noways proud of me as a relation, if she found me doing so much downright kitchen work. I hain't seen her since she was grow'd up, you know, and I don't know how she'd feel about it."

"If she's any good, she'll think all the more of you for having pluck to tackle any honest work that comes," said Overton, decidedly. "We all do—every man in the settlement. If I didn't, I wouldn't be asking you to look after this little girl, who hasn't any folks—father or mother—to look after her right. I thought if that lady teacher would just settle down here, I would make it worth her while to teach 'Tana."

"Well, now, that would be wise," exclaimed Mrs. Huzzard, delightedly. "An' I'll write her a letter this very night. Or, no—not to-night," she added, "for I'll be too busy. To-night the dance is to be."

"What dance?"

"Well, now, I clean forgot to tell you about that. But it was Mr. Lyster planned it out after you left yesterday. As he's to go back East in a few days, he is to give a supper and a dance to the boys, and I just thought if they were going to have it, they might as well have it right and so it's to be here."

Overton twisted his hat around in silence for a few moments.

"What does 'Tana think of it?" he asked, at last.

"She? Why, land's sakes! She's tickled a heap over it. Indeed, to go back to the commencement, I guess it was to please her he got it up. At least, that's the way it looked to me, for she no sooner said she'd like to see a dance with this crowd at the Ferry than he said there should be one, and I should get up a supper. I tell you that young chap sets store by that little girl of yours, though she does sass him a heap. They're a fine-looking young couple, Mr. Dan."

Mr. Dan evidently agreed, for he nodded his head absently, but did not speak. He did not look especially pleased over the announcement of the dance.

"Well, I suppose she's got to learn soon or late whom to meet and whom to let alone here," he said at last, in a troubled way, "and she might as well learn now as later. Yet I wish Max had not been in such a hurry. And he promised to take good care of her on the river, did he?" he added, after another pause. "Well, he's a good fellow; but I reckon she can guide him in most things up here."

"No, indeed," answered Mrs. Huzzard, with promptness, "I heard her say myself that she had never been along this part of the Kootenai River before."

"Maybe not," he agreed. "I'm not speaking of this immediate locality. I mean that she has good general ideas about finding ways, and trails, and means. She's got ideas of outdoor life that girls don't often have, I reckon. And if she can only look after herself as well in a camp as she can on a trail, I'll be satisfied."

Mrs. Huzzard looked at him as he stared moodily out of the window.

"I see how it is," she said, nodding her head in a kindly way. "Since she's here, you're afraid some of the folks is most too rough to teach her much good. Well, well, don't you worry. We'll do the best we can, and that dead partner o' yours—her father, you know—will know you do your best; and no man can do more. I had a notion about her associates when I let her go out on the river this morning. 'Just go along,' thought I, 'if you get into the way of making company out of real gentlemen, you'll not be so like to be satisfied with them as ain't—"

"Good enough," Dan assented, cheerily. "You have been doing a little thinking on your own account, Mrs. Huzzard? That's all right, then. I'll know that you are a conscientious care-taker, no matter how far out on a trail I am. There's another thing I wanted to say; it's this: Just you let her think that the help she gives you around the house more than pays for her keeping, will you?"

"Why, of course I will; and I'm willing enough to take her company in change for boarding, if that's all. You know I didn't want to take the money when you did pay it."

"I know; that's all right. I want you to have the money, only don't let her know she is any bill of expense to me. Understand! You see, she said something about it yesterday—thought she was a trouble to me, or some such stuff. It seemed to bother her. When she gets older, we can talk to her square about such things. But now, till she gets more used to the thought of being with us, we'll have to do some pious cheating in the matter. I'll take the responsibilities of the lies, if we have to tell any. It—it seems the only way out, you see."

He spoke a little clumsily, as though uttering a speech prepared beforehand and by one not used to memorizing, and he did not look at Mrs. Huzzard as he talked to her.

But she looked at him and then let her hand fall kindly on his shoulder. She had not read romances for nothing. All at once she fancied she had found a romance in the life of Dan Overton.

"Yes, I see, as plain as need be," she said. "I see that you've brought care for yourself with that little mischief in her Indian dress; an' you take all the care on your shoulders as though it was a blessed privilege. And she's never to know what she owes you. Well, there's my hand. I'm your friend, Dan Overton. But don't waste your days with too much care about this new pet you've brought home. That's all I've got to say. She'll never think more of you for it. Girls don't; they are as selfish as young wolves."



CHAPTER VI.

MRS HUZZARD'S SUSPICIONS.

Overton sat silent and thoughtful for a little while after Mrs. Huzzard's words. Then he glanced up and smiled at her.

"I've just been getting an idea of the direction your fancies are taking," he said mockingly, "and they're very pretty, but I reckon you'll change them to oblige me; what I'm doing for her is what I'd do for any other child left alone. But as this child doesn't happen to be a boy, I can't take it on the trail, and a ranger like me is not fit to look after her, anyway. I think I told you before, I'm not a marrying man, and she, of course, would not look at me if I was; so what does it matter about her thinking of me? Of course, she won't—it ain't my intention. Even if she leaves these diggings some day and forgets all about me, just as the young wolves or wildcats do—well, what difference? I've helped old bums all over the country, and never heard or wanted to hear of them again, and I'm sure it's more worth one's while to help a young girl. Now, you're a nice little woman, Mrs. Huzzard, and I like you. But if you and I are to keep on being good friends, don't you speak like that about the child and me. It's very foolish. If she should hear it, she'd leave us some fine night, and we'd never learn her address."

Then he put on his hat, nodded to her, and walked out of the door as though averse to any further discussion of the subject.

"Bums all over the country!" repeated Mrs. Huzzard, looking after him darkly. "Well, Mr. Dan Overton, it's well for you that ward of yours, as you call her, wasn't near enough to hear that speech. And you're not a marrying man, are you? Well, well, I guess there's many a man and woman, too, goes through life and don't know what they might be, just because they never meet with the right person who could help them to learn, and you're just of that sort. Not a marrying man! Humph! When there's not a better favored one along this valley—that there ain't."

She fidgeted about the dinner preparations, filled with a puzzled impatience as to why Dan Overton should thus decidedly state that he was not one of the men to marry, though all the rest of the world might fall into the popular habit if they chose.

"It's the natural ambition of creation," she declared in confidence to the dried peach-pie she was slipping from the oven. "Of course, being as I'm a widow myself, I can't just make that statement to men folks promiscuous like. But it's true, and every man ought to know it's true, and why Dan Overton—"

She paused in the midst of her soliloquy, and dropped into the nearest chair, while a light of comprehension illuminated her broad face.

"To think it never came in my mind before," she ejaculated. "That's it! Poor boy! he's had a girl somewhere and she's died, I suppose, or married some other fellow; and that's why he's a bachelor at nearly thirty, I guess," she added, thoughtfully. "She must have died, and that's why he never looks as gay or goes on larks with the other boys. He just goes on a lone trail mostly, Dan does. Even his own stepfather don't seem to have much knowledge about him. Well, well! I always did feel that he had some sort of trouble lookin' out of them dark eyes of his, and his words to-day makes it plain to me all at once. Well, well!"

The pensive expression of her face, as it rested on her fat hand, was evidence that Lorena Jane Huzzard had, after all, found a romance in real life suited to her fancy, and the unconscious hero was Dan Overton. Poor Dan!

The grieving hero to whom her thoughts went out was at that moment walking in a most prosaic, lazy fashion down the main thoroughfare of the settlement. The road led down to the Ferry from seemingly nowhere in particular, for from the Ferry on both sides of the river the road dwindled into mere trails that slipped away into the wildernesses—trails traveled by few of the white race until a few short years ago, and then only by the most daring of hunters, or the most persevering of the gold-seekers.

In the paths where gold is found the dwellings of man soon follow, and the quickly erected shanties and more pretentious buildings of Sinna Ferry had grown there as evidence that the precious metals in that region were no longer visionary things of the enthusiasts, but veritable facts. The men who came to it along the water, or over the inland trails, were all in some way connected with the opening up of the new mining fields.

Overton himself had drifted up there as an independent prospector, two years before. Then, when works were got under way all along that river and lake region, when a reliable man was needed by the transfer company to get specie to their men for pay-days, it was Overton to whom was given the responsibility.

Various responsible duties he had little by little shouldered, until, as Lyster said, he seemed a necessity to a large area, yet he had not quite abandoned the dreams with which he had entered those cool Northern lands. Some day, when the country was more settled and transportation easier, it was his intention to slip again up into the mountains, along some little streams he knew, and work out there in quietness his theories as to where the gold was to be found.

Meantime, he was contented enough with his lot. No vaulting ambition touched him. He was merely a ranger of the Kootenai country, and was as welcome in the scattered lodges of the Indians as he was in the camps of the miners. He even wore clothes of Indian make, perhaps for the novelty of them, or perhaps because the buckskin was better suited than cloth to the wild trails over which he rode. And if, at times, he drifted into talk of existence beyond the frontier, and gave one an idea that he had drunk of worldly life deep enough to be tired of it, those times were rare; even Lyster had but once known him to make reference to it—that one evening after their ride along the falls of the Kootenai.

But however tired he might at some time have grown of the life of cities, he was not at all too blase to accommodate himself to Sinna Ferry. If poor Mrs. Huzzard had seen the very hearty drink of whisky with which he refreshed himself after his talk with her, she would not have been so apt to think of him with such pensive sympathy.

The largest and most popular saloon was next door to the postoffice, the care of which Dan had secured for his stepfather, as the duties of it were just about as arduous as any that gentleman would deign to accept. The mail came every two weeks, and its magnitude was of the fourth-class order. No one else wanted it, for a man would have to possess some other means of livelihood before he could undertake it, but the captain accepted it with the attitude of a veteran who was a martyr to his country. As to the other means of livelihood, that did not cause him much troubled thought, since he had chanced to fall in Dan's way just as Dan was starting up to the Kootenai country, and Dan had been the "other means" ever since.

The captain watched Overton gulp down the "fire-water," while he himself sipped his with the appreciation of a gentleman of leisure.

"You didn't use to drink so early in the day," the captain remarked, with a certain watchful malice in his face. "Are your cares as a guardian wearing on your nerves, and bringing a need of stimulants?"

Overton wheeled about as though to fling the whisky-glass across at the speaker; but the gallant captain, perceiving that he had overreached his stepson's patience, promptly dodged around the end of the bar, squatting close to the floor. Overton, leaning over to look at him, only laughed contemptuously, and set the glass down again.

"You're not worth the price of the glass," he decided, amused in spite of himself at the fear in the pale-blue eyes. Even the flowing side-whiskers betrayed a sort of alarm in their bristling alertness. "And if it wasn't that one good woman fancied you were true metal instead of slag, I'd—"

He did not complete the sentence, leaving the captain in doubt as to his half-expressed threat.

"Get up there!" Dan suddenly exclaimed. "Now, you think you will annoy me about that guardianship until I'll give it up, don't you?" he said, more quietly, as the captain once more stood erect, but in a wavering, uncertain way. "Well, you're mightily mistaken, and you might as well end your childish interference right here. The girl is as much entitled to my consideration as you are—more! So if any one is dropped out of the family circle, it will not be her. Do you understand? And if I hear another word of your insinuations about her amusements, I'll break your neck! Two, Jim."

This last was to the barkeeper, and had reference to a half-dollar he tossed on the counter as payment for his own drink and that of the captain; and again he stalked into the street with his temper even more rumpled than when he left Mrs. Huzzard's.

Assuredly it was not a good morning for Mr. Overton's peace of mind.

Down along the river he came in sight of the cause of his discontent, the most innocent-looking cause in the world. She was teaching Lyster to paddle the canoe with but one paddle, as the Indians do, and was laughing derisively at his ineffectual attempts to navigate in a straight line.

"You—promised—Mrs. Huzzard—you'd—take—care—of—me," she said, slowly and emphatically, "and a pretty way you're doing it. Suppose I depended on you getting me in to shore for my dinner, how many hours do you think I'd have to go without eating? Just about sixteen. Give me that paddle, and don't upset the canoe when you move."

These commands Mr. Lyster obeyed with alacrity.

"What a clever little girl you are!" he said, admiringly, as she sent the canoe skimming straight as a swallow for the shore. "Now, Overton would appreciate your skill at this sort of work"—and then he laughed a little—"much more than he would your modeling in clay."

A dark flush crept over her face, and her lips straightened.

"Why shouldn't he look down on that sort of pottering around?" she demanded. "He isn't the sort of man who has time to waste on trifles."

"Why that emphasis on the he?" asked her tormentor. "Do you mean to insinuate that I do waste time on trifles? Well, well! is that the way I get snubbed, because I grow enthusiastic over your artistic modeling and your most charming voice, Miss 'Tana?"

She flashed one sulky, suspicious look at him, and paddled on in silence.

"What a stormy shadow lurks somewhere back of your eyes," he continued, lazily. "One moment you are all sugar and cream to a fellow, and the next you are an incipient tornado. I think you might distribute your frowns a little among the people you know, and not give them all to me. Now, there's Overton—"

"Don't you talk about him," she commanded, sharply. "You do a lot of making fun about folks, but don't you go on making fun of him, if that's what you're trying to do. If it's me—pooh!" and she looked at him, saucily. "I don't care much what you think about me; but Dan—"

"Oh! Dan, then, happens to-day to be one of the saints in your calendar, and plain mortals like myself must not take his name in vain—is that it? What a change from this time yesterday!—for I don't think you sent him to the hills in a very angelic mood. And you!—well, I found you with a clay Indian crumbled to pieces in your destroying hands; so I don't imagine Dan's talk to you left a very peaceful impression."

He laughed at her teasingly, expecting to see her show temper again, but she did not. She only bent her head a little lower, and when she lifted it, she looked at him with a certain daring.

"He was right, and I was silly, I guess. He was good—so good, and I'm mostly bad. I was bad to him, anyway, but I ain't too much of a baby to say so. And if he's mad at me when he comes back, I'll just pack my traps and take another trail."

"Back to Akkomi?" he asked, gaily. "Now, you know we would not hear to that."

"It ain't your affair, only Dan's."

"Oh, excuse me for living on the same earth with you and Dan! It is not my fault, you know. I suppose now, if you did desert us, it would be to act as a sort of guardian angel to the tribes along the river, turn into a whole life-saving service yourself, and pick up the superfluous reds who tumble into the rivers. I wondered for a whole day why you made so strong a swim for so unimportant an article."

"His mother thought he was important," she answered. "But I didn't know he had a mother just then; all I thought as I started for him was that he was so plucky. He tried his little best to save himself, and he never said one word; that was what I liked about him. It would have been a pity to let that sort of a boy be lost."

"You think a heap of that—of personal bravery—don't you? I notice you gauge every one by that."

"Maybe I do. I know I hate a coward," she said, indifferently.

Then, as the canoe ran in to the shore, she for the first time saw Overton, who was standing there waiting for them. She looked at him with startled alertness as his eyes met hers. He looked like a statue—a frontier sentinel standing tall and muscular with folded arms and gazing with curious intentness from one to the other of the canoeists.

In the bottom of the boat a string of fish lay, fine speckled fellows, to delight the palate of an epicure. She stooped and picking up the fish, walked across the sands to him.

"Look, Dan!" she said, with unwonted humility. "They're the best I could find, and—and I'm sorry enough for being ugly yesterday. I'll try not to be any more. I'll do anything you want—yes, I will!" she added, snappishly, as he smiled dubiously, she thought unbelievingly. "I'd—dress like a boy, and go on the trails with you, paddle your canoe, or feed your horse—I would, if you like."

Lyster, who was following, heard her words, and glanced at Overton with curious meaning. Overton met the look with something like a threat in his own eyes—a sort of "laugh if you dare!"

"But I don't like," Dan said, briefly, to poor 'Tana, who had made such a great effort to atone for ugly words spoken to him the day before.

She said no more; and Lyster, walking beside her, pulled one of her unruly curls teasingly, to make her look at him.

"Didn't I tell you it was better to give your smiles to me instead of to Overton?" he asked, in a bantering way, as he took the string of fish. "I care a great deal more about your good opinion than he does."

"Oh—you—" she began, and shrugged her shoulders for a silent finish to her thought, as though words were useless.

"Oh, me! Of course, me. Now, if you had offered to paddle a canoe for me, I'd—"

"You'd loll in the bottom of the boat and let me," she flashed out. "Of course you would; you're made just that way."

"Sh—h, 'Tana," said Overton, while to himself he smiled in an indulgent way, and thought: "That is like youth; they only quarrel when there is a listener." Then turning to the girl, he said aloud:

"You know, 'Tana, I want you to learn other things besides paddling a canoe. Such things are all right for a boy; but—"

"I know," she agreed; but there was a resentful tone in her voice. "And I guess I'll never trouble you to do squaw's work for you again."

She looked squaw-like, but for her brown, curly hair, for she still wore the dress Overton had presented to her at the Kootenai village; and very becoming it was with its fancy fringes and dots of yellow, green, and black beads. Only the hat was a civilized affair—the work of Mrs. Huzzard, and was a wide, pretty "flat" of brown straw, while from its crown some bunches of yellow rosebuds nodded—the very last "artificial" blossoms left of Sinna Ferry's first millinery store. The young face looked very piquant above the beaded collar; not so pinched or worn a face as when the men had first seen her. The one week of sheltered content had given her cheeks a fullness and color remarkable. She was prettier than either man had imagined she would be. But it was not a joyous, girlish face even yet. There was too much of something like suspicion in it, a certain watchful attention given to the people with whom she came in contact; and this did not seem to abate in the least. Overton had noticed it, and decided that first night that she must have been treated badly by people to have distrust come so readily to her. He noticed, also, that any honest show of kindness soon won her over; and that to Lyster, with his graceful little attentions and his amused interest, she turned from the first hour of their acquaintance as to some chum who was in the very inner circle of those to whom her favor was extended. Overton, hearing their wordy wars and noting their many remarks of friendship, felt old, as though their light enjoyment of little things made him realize the weight of his own years, for he could no longer laugh with them.

Looking down now at the clouded young face under the hat, he felt remorsefully like a "kill-joy;" for she had been cheery enough until she caught sight of him.

"And you will never do squaw work for me again, little squaw?" Dan questioned, banteringly. "Not even if I asked you?"

"You never will ask me," she answered, promptly.

"Well, then, not even if I should get sick and need a nurse?"

"You!" and she surveyed him from head to foot with pronounced unbelief. "You'll never be sick. You're strong as a mountain lion, or an old king buffalo."

"Maybe," he agreed, and smiled slightly at the dubious compliment. "But you know even the old king buffaloes die sometime."

"Die? Oh, yes, in a fight, or something of that sort; but they don't need much medicine!"

"And even if you did," said Lyster, addressing Overton, "I'm going to give you fair warning you can't depend on 'Tana, unless you mend your ways. She threatened to-day to leave us, if you allow the shadow of your anger to fall on her again. So take heed, or she will swim back to Akkomi."

Overton looked at her sharply, and saw that back of Lyster's badinage there was something of truth.

"You did?" he asked, reproachfully. "I did not know I had been so bad a friend to you as that."

But no answer was made to him. She was ashamed, and she looked it. She was also angry at Lyster, and he was made aware of it by a withering glance.

"Now I'm in her bad books," he complained; "but it was only my fear of losing her that urged me to give you warning. I hope she does not take revenge by refusing me all the dances I am looking forward to to-night. I'd like to get you, as her guardian, on my side, Overton."

The girl looked up, expectantly, and rested her slim fingers on the arms of the two men.

"I could not be of much use, unless I had an invitation myself to the dance," Dan remarked, dryly; "mine has evidently been delayed in the mail."

"You don't like it?" said the girl, detecting the fact in his slight change of tone. "You don't want me to go to dances?"

"What an idea!" exclaimed Lyster. "Of course, he is not going to spoil our good time by objecting—are you, Dan? I never thought of that. You see, you were away; but, of course, I fancied you would like it, too. I'll write you out a flourishing request for your presence, if that's all."

"It isn't necessary; I'll be there, I reckon. But why should you think I mean to keep you from jollifications?" he asked, looking kindly at 'Tana. "Don't get the idea in your head that I'm a sort of 'Bad Man from Roaring River,' who eats a man or so for breakfast every day, and all the little girls he comes across. No, indeed! I'll whistle for you to dance any time; so get on your war-paint and feathers when it pleases you."

The prospect seemed to please her, for she walked closer to him and looked up at him with more content.

"Anyway, you ain't like Captain Leek," she decided. "He's the worst old baby! Why, he just said all sorts of things about dances. Guess he must be a heavy swell where he comes from, and where all the fandangoes are got up in gilt-edged style. I'd like to spoil the gilt for him a little. I will, too, if he preaches any more of his la-de-da society rules to me. I'll show him I'm a different boy from Mrs. Huzzard."

"Now, what would you do?" asked Lyster. "He wouldn't trust himself in a boat with you, so you can't drown him."

"Don't want to. Huh! I wouldn't want to be lynched for him. All I'd like to hit hard would be his good opinion of himself. I could, too, if Dan wouldn't object."

"If you can, you're a wonder," remarked Dan. "And I'll give you license to do what I confess I can't. But I think you might take us into your confidence."

This she would not do, and escaped all their questions, by taking refuge in Mrs. Huzzard's best room, and much of her afternoon was spent there under that lady's surveillance, fashioning a party gown with which to astonish the natives. For Mrs. Huzzard would not consent to her appearing in the savageness of an Indian dress, when the occasion was one of importance—namely, the first dance in the settlement held in the house of a respectable woman.

And as 'Tana stitched, and gathered, and fashioned the dress, according to Mrs. Huzzard's orders, she fashioned at the same time a little plan of her own in which the personality of Captain Leek was to figure.

If Mrs. Huzzard fancied that her silent smiles were in anticipation of the dancing festivities, she was much mistaken.



CHAPTER VII.

A GAME OF POKER.

Mr. Max Lyster, in his hasty plans for an innocent village dance, had neglected to make allowance for a certain portion of the inhabitants whose innocence was not of the quality that allowed them to miss anything, no matter who was host. They would shoot the glass out of every window in a house, if the owner of the house should be in their bad books for any trifling slight, and would proceed to "clean out" any establishment where their own peculiar set was ignored.

There were, perhaps, seven or eight women in the place who were shown all respect by men in general. They were the wives and daughters of the city fathers—the first of the "family folks" to give the stamp of permanency to the little camp by the river. These ladies and their husbands, together with the better class of the "boys," were the people whom Mr. Lyster expected to meet and to partake of his hospitality in the cheery abode of Mrs. Huzzard.

But Overton knew there were one or two other people to consider, and felt impatient with Lyster for his impulsive arrangements. Of course, 'Tana could not know and Mrs. Huzzard did not, but Lyster had at least been very thoughtless.

The fact was that the well-ordered establishment of Mrs. Huzzard was a grievance and a thorn in the side of certain womankind, who dwelt along the main street and kept open drinking saloons seven days in the week. They would have bought ribbons and feathers from her, and as a milliner thought no more about her, or even if she had opened a hotel, with a bar attached, they would have been willing to greet her as a fellow worker, and all would have had even chances. But her effrontery in opening an eating house, where only water—pure or adulterated with tea or coffee—was drunk—Well, her immaculate pretensions, to use the vernacular of one of the disgusted, "made them sick."

It may have been their dislike was made more pronounced because of the fact that the more sober-minded men turned gladly to the irreproachable abode of Mrs. Huzzard, and the "bosses" of several "gangs" of workmen had arranged with her for their meals. Besides, the river men directed any strangers to her house; whereas, before, the saloons had been the first point of view from which travelers or miners had seen Sinna Ferry. All these grievances had accumulated through the weeks, until the climax was capped when the report went abroad that a dance was to take place at the sickeningly correct restaurant, and that only the elite of the settlement were expected to attend.

Thereupon some oaths had been exchanged in a desultory fashion over the bars at Mustang Kate's and Dutch Lena's; and derisive comments made as to Mrs. Huzzard and her late charge, the girl in the Indian dress. Some of the boys, who owned musical instruments—a banjo and a mouth organ—were openly approached by bribery to keep away from the all too perfect gathering, so that there might be a dearth of music. But the boys with the musical instruments evaded the bribes, and even hinted aloud their desire to dance once anyway with the new girl of the curly hair and the Indian dress.

This decision increased somewhat the muttering of the storm brewing; and when Dutch Lena's own man indiscreetly observed that he would have to drop in line, too, if all the good boys were going, then indeed did the cyclone of woman's wrath break over that particular branch of Hades. Lena's man was scratched a little with a knife before quiet was restored, and there had been some articles of furniture flung around promiscuously; also some violent language.

Overton divined somewhat of all this, knowing as he did the material of the neighborhood, though no actual history of events came to his ears. And 'Tana, presenting herself to his notice in all the glory of her party dress, felt her enthusiasm cool as he looked at her moodily. He would have liked to shut her away from all the vulgar gaze and comment he knew her charming face would win for her. His responsibilities as a guardian forced on him so many new phases of thought. He had never before given the social side of Sinna Ferry much consideration; but he thought fast and angrily as he looked down on the slim, girlish, white-draped figure and the lovely appealing face turned upward to him.

"You don't like it—you don't think it is pretty?" she asked, and her mouth was a little tremulous. "I tried so hard. I sewed part of it myself, and Mrs. Huzzard said—"

Lyster arose from a seat by the window. He had entered the room but a moment before, and now lounged toward her with critical eyes.

"Mrs. Huzzard said you were enchanting in your new gown—is not that it?" he asked, and then frowned at Overton in a serio-comic way. "And lives there a man with soul so dead that he cannot perceive the manifold beauties arranged for his inspection? Well, you know I told you I appreciate you much more than he will ever do; so—"

"What nonsense you are talking!" said Overton, irritably. "Of course, the dress is all right. I don't know much about such things, though; so my opinion is not worth much. But I don't think little girls should be told so much of their charms, Lyster. They are too likely to be made think that prettiness is the only thing worth living for."

He smiled at 'Tana to soften the severity of his speech; but she was not looking at him just then, and so missed the softening accompaniment. She felt it was herself who was taken to task instead of Lyster, and stood with drooped, darkening face until the door closed behind Overton.

"That is your fault," she burst out. "He—he might have thought it was nice, if you hadn't been here with your fool speeches. You just go around laughing at everything, Mr. Max Lyster, and you're just as empty as that china cat on the mantel, and it's hollow. I'd like to hit you sometimes when you say your nice, tantalizing words—that's what I'd like to do; and maybe some day I will."

"I shouldn't be surprised if you did," he agreed, and stepped back out of range of her clenched brown hands. "Whew! what a trial you'd be to a guardian who had nerves. You are spoiling your pretty face with that satanic expression. Now, why should you make war on me? I'm sure I am one of your most devoted servants."

"You are your own devoted servant," she retorted, "and you'll never be any other person's."

"Well, now, I'm not so sure of that," he said, and looked at her smilingly. All her anger did not keep him from seeing what a wondrous difference all that white, billowy lawn made in the girl whom he had taken for a squaw that first day when he saw her swimming the Kootenai.

She looked taller, slighter, with such lovable curves in the girlish form, and the creamy neck and arms gleaming through the thin material. No ornaments or ribbons broke the whiteness of her garb—nothing but the Indian belt of beads that Overton had given her, and in it were reddish tints and golden brown the color of her hair.

To be sure, the cheeks were a little tanned by the weather, and the little hand was browner than need be for beauty; but, for all that, he realized, as Overton had seemingly not done, that the girl, when dressed as dainty girlhood should be, was very pretty, indeed.

"I am willing to sign myself your bond slave from this hour, if that will lessen your anger against me," he protested. "Just think, I leave Sinna Ferry to-morrow. How shall I do penance until then?"

"'It may be for years, and it may be forever, Then why art thou silent, O voice of my heart?'"

She pouted and frowned a little at his warbling, though a smile eventually touched her lips, and speculation shone in her eyes.

"I will make you do penance," she declared, "and right now, too. I haven't any money, but I'll put up my moccasins against five dollars in a game of poker."

"You—play poker?"

"I'll try," she said briefly, and her eyes sparkled; "I'll play you and ask no favors."

"Your moccasins are not worth five."

"Maybe not. Call it two-fifty then and promise me two hands at that."

"How sure you are to win!" he laughed, well pleased that she was diverted from her quick displeasure. "We'll call it five against the moccasins. Here are the cards. And what am I to do with those little moccasins, even if I do win them?"

"Oh, I'll take care of the moccasins!" she said, easily. "I guess they'll not trouble you much, Mr. Lyster. Cut for deal?"

He nodded, and they commenced their game there alone in Mrs. Huzzard's most respectable cafe. Mrs. Huzzard herself did not approve of card playing. No one but Captain Leek had, as yet, been allowed that privilege. His playing she had really begun to look upon as almost moral in its effects, since he pursued it as the most innocent of pastimes, never betting more than a few dimes, and since it secluded him effectually from the roaring lion of iniquity to which so many men fell victims in the lively little settlement. But 'Tana, knowing that card playing by a girl would not be a thing within Mrs. Huzzard's understanding, glanced warily at the door leading to the second floor of the establishment and comforted herself that the mistress of the domain was yet employed by her toilet for the evening.

'Tana dealt, and did it so deftly that Lyster looked at her in surprise, even irritation. What business had she touching the bits of pasteboard like that—like some old gambler. Such a slight slip of a thing, with all the beauty of early youth in her face, and all the guilelessness of a vestal in the pure white of her garb. He fancied he would have felt different if he had seen her playing cards in that Indian dress; it would not have brought such a discord with it. And it was not merely that she played, but it was the way she played that brought vexation to him—that careless, assured handling of the cards. It seemed almost professional,—it seemed—

"I'll just take that little five," remarked his opponent easily, and spread out the cards before him. "I know what you've got, and it won't touch this flush, and if you play again I'd advise you to gather your wits and not play so wild—that is, if you want to win."

He stared at her in astonishment. It was quite true—while his thoughts had been with her personality and her incongruous occupation, her thoughts had been centered very decidedly on the points of the game. She, at least, had not played "wild." A doubt even came into his mind, as to whether she played honestly.

"I don't think I cared about winning," he answered, "I'd rather have given you the stakes than to have had you play for them that way—yes, 'Tana, double the stakes."

"Oh, would you?" she asked, with saucy indifference. "Well, I ain't asking favors. I guess I can win all I want."

"No doubt you can," he assented, gravely. "But as young ladies do not generally depend on their skill with cards to earn their pocket money, I'm afraid Overton would have a lecture ready for you, if he learned of your skill."

"Let him," she said, recklessly. "I've tried to be good, and tried to be nice, and—and even pretty," she added, touching the dainty sleeve and skirt of her dress, "but what use is it? He just stands off and stares at me, and even speaks sharp as if he's sorry he ever brought me down here. I didn't think he'd be like that. He was nicer in Akkomi's village; and now—"

She hesitated, and, seeing that Lyster's eyes were watching her attentively, she laughed in a careless way, and curled the five-dollar bill around her finger.

"So I might as well be bad, don't you see? and I'm going to be, too. I want this five dollars to gamble with, and for nothing else in the world. I'm going to get square with some one."

"Which means you are going to worry some one else, just because Overton has annoyed you," decided Lyster. "That is a woman's idea of retaliation, I believe. Am I the selected victim?"

"Of course you're not, or I wouldn't have told you. All I wanted of you was to give me a start."

"Exactly; your frankness is not very flattering; but, in spite of it, I'd like to give you a start in a different way—toward a good school, for instance. How would you like that?"

She looked at him for a moment suspiciously, she was so used to raillery from him; then she answered briefly:

"But you are not my guardian, Mr. Max Lyster."

"Then you prefer card playing?"

"No, I don't. I'd like it, but my income can't cover such luxuries, and I have booked myself to play for a time this evening, if I can get the man I want to play with."

"But that is what you must not do," he said, hastily. "With Overton or myself, of course, a game would not do you any special harm; but you simply must not indulge in such pastime with this promiscuous gathering of people—of men."

"But it isn't men—it's only one man I want to play—do you see?"

"I might if I knew who it was; but you don't know any men here but Dan and me."

"Yes, I do, too. I know Captain Alphonso Leek."

"Perhaps, but—" Lyster smiled, and shook his head dubiously.

"But he won't play with me, because he don't like me; that's what you would say, if you were not too polite—isn't it? He doesn't approve of me, and can't understand why I'm on the face of the earth, and especially why Dan should take any responsibility but Captain Leek on his hands. Huh! Can't I see? Of course I do. I heard him call me 'that' this morning. And so, I want to play a game of poker with him."

She looked impishly at him from under her brows, and twirled the money.

"Won't you be a messenger of peace and fix the game for me?" she asked, insinuatingly. "You know you promised to do penance."

"Then I forswear all rash promises for the future," he declared.

"But you did promise."

"Well, then, I'll keep my word, since you are such a little Shylock. And if it is only the captain—"

She laughed after he had gone out, and sat there shuffling the cards and building them into various forms. She was thus employed when Overton again passed the window and entered the room ere she could conceal them. He observed her attempt to do so and smiled indulgently.

"Playing with the cards, are you?" he asked, in a careless way. "They are expensive toys sometimes. But I'll teach you 'seven-up' some day; it's an easy game."

"Is it?" she said; but did not look up at him. His indifference to the pretty dress had not yet ceased to annoy her.

"Yes. And see here, 'Tana! I forgot to give you a present I brought you a little while ago. It's a ring a fellow from the upper lake region worried me into buying, as he was dead broke. He bought it from an Indian up near Karlo. Queer for an Indian to have, isn't it?"

"Near Karlo?" she said, and reached out her hand for it.

There was a strange look on her face, a strange choking sound in her throat. He noticed it, and his voice was very kindly as he spoke again.

"You don't like even to hear of that region, do you? You must have been very miserable somewhere up there. But never mind, little girl; we'll try to forget all that. And if the ring fits you, wear it, no matter what country it comes from."

She tried to thank him, but the words would not come easily, and her outstretched hand in which the ring lay was tremulous.

"Oh, that's all right," he said hastily, afraid, no doubt, she was going to cry, as he had seen her do before at kind words. "Never mind about the thanks. If you care to wear it, that's all that's necessary; though a snake ring is not the prettiest of ornaments for a girl. It fits, doesn't it?"

"Yes, it fits," she returned, and slipped it on her finger. "It is very nice," but she shivered as with cold, and her hand shook.

It was curious enough to attract notice anywhere, a silver and a gold snake twined together with their heads meeting, and in the flattened gold head, eyes of garnet gleamed, while the silver head had eyes of emerald. Not a girlish looking ornament, surely.

"I'll wear it," she said, and dropped the hand to her side. "But don't tell the rest where it came from. I may want to tease them."



CHAPTER VIII.

THE DANCE.

"Ain't it lovely, Ora?" and 'Tana danced past Ora Harrison, the doctor's pretty daughter, as if her feet had wings to them. And as Ora's bright face smiled an answer, it was clear that the only two young girls in the settlement were enjoying Lyster's party to the full.

For it was a pronounced success. Every "boy" invited was there in as much of festive outfit as circumstances would allow. All the "family" people were there. And the presence of Doctor Harrison—the only "professional" man in the town—and his wife and daughter gave a stamp of select society to the gathering in Mrs. Huzzard's rooms.

Mrs. Huzzard beamed with pleasure at the great success of it all. She would have liked to dance, too, and refused most unwillingly when Lyster tried to persuade her. But a supercilious glance from the captain made her refusal decided. The doubt as to whether ladies in "sussiety" ever did dance after forty years, and one hundred and sixty-three pounds weight, deterred her. Now, if the captain had asked her to dance, she would have been more assured.

But the captain did not; and, after a while, he was not to be seen. He had vanished into the little back sitting room, and she was confident he was engaged in his innocent pastime of a friendly game of cards with the doctor.

"Go and dance with 'Tana, or that nice little girl of the doctor's," she said to Lyster, when he was trying to inveigle her into a quadrille—"that's the sort of partner for you."

"But 'Tana has disappeared mysteriously; and as Miss Ora is 'bespoke,' I can't dance with her unless I want a duel with her partner."

"'Tana disappeared! Well, now, I haven't seen her for two dances," said Mrs. Huzzard, looking around searchingly, "though I never missed her till this minute."

"Beg pardon, ma'am," said a voice at her elbow; "but is it the—the young lady with the white dress you are looking for?"

"Yes, it is," answered Mrs. Huzzard, and turned around to face the speaker, who was an apologetic-looking stranger with drab-colored chin whiskers, and a checkered shirt, and a slight impediment in his speech.

"Well, ma'am, I saw her go into that room there quite a spell ago," and he nodded toward the back sitting room. "She hasn't passed out again, as I've seen."

Then, as Mrs. Huzzard smiled on him in a friendly way, he ventured further:

"She's a very pretty girl, as any one can see. Might I ask her name?"

"Oh, yes! Her name is Rivers—Miss Tana Rivers," said Mrs. Huzzard. "You must be a stranger in the settlement?"

"Yes, ma'am, I am. My name is Harris—Jim Harris. I come down from the diggings with Mr. Overton this morning. He allowed it would be all right for me to step inside, if I wanted to see the dancing."

"To be sure it is," agreed Mrs. Huzzard, heartily. "His friends are our friends, and civil folks are always right welcome."

"Thank, you, ma'am; you're kind, I'm sure. But we ain't just friends, especial. Only I had business in his line, so we picked up acquaintance and come into camp together; and when I saw the pretty girl in white, I did think I'd like to come in a spell. She looks so uncommon like a boy I knew up in the 'big bend' country. Looks enough like him to be a twin; but he wasn't called Rivers. Has—has this young lady any brothers or cousins up there?"

"Well, now, as for cousins, they are far out, and we hain't ever talked about them; but as for brothers or sisters, father or mother, that she hasn't got, for she told me so. Her pa and Mr. Dan Overton they was partners once; and when the pa died he just left his child to the partner's care; and he couldn't have left her to a squarer man."

"That's what report says of him," conceded the stranger, watching her with guarded attention. "Then Mr. Overton's partner hasn't been dead long?"

"Oh, no—not very long; not long enough for the child to get used to talking of it to strangers, I guess; so we don't ask her many questions about it. But it troubles her yet, I know."

"Of course—of course; such a pretty little girl, too."

Then the two fell into quite a pleasant chat, and it was not until he moved away from beside her, to make room for the doctor's wife, that Mrs. Huzzard observed that one arm hung limply beside him, and that one leg dragged a little as he walked. He was a man who bore paralysis with him.

She thought, while he was talking to her, that he looked like a man who had seen trouble. A weary, drawn look was about his eyes. She had seen dissipated men who looked like that; yet this stranger seemed in no ways a man of that sort. He was so quiet and polite; and when she saw the almost useless limbs, she thought she knew then what that look in his face meant.

But there were too many people about for her to study one very particularly, so she lost sight of the stranger, Harris, and did not observe that he had moved near the door of the sitting room, or that the door was open.

But it was; and just inside of it Lyster stood watching, with a certain vexation, a game of cards played there. The doctor had withdrawn, and was looking with amusement at the two players—'Tana and Captain Leek. The captain was getting the worst of it. His scattered whiskers fairly bristled with perplexity and irritation. Several times he displayed bad judgment in drawing and discarding, because of his nervous annoyance, while she seemed surprisingly skillful or lucky, and was not at all disturbed by her opponent's moods. She looked smilingly straight into his eyes, and when she exhibited the last winning hand, and the captain dashed his hand angrily into the pack, she waited for one civil second and then swept the stakes toward her.

"What! Don't you want to play any more, captain?" she asked, maliciously. "I would really like to have another dance, yet if you want revenge—"

"Go and dance by all means," he said, testily. "When I want another game of poker, I'll let you know, but I must say I do not approve of such pastime for young ladies."

"None of us would, if in your place, captain," laughed the doctor. "And, for my part, I am glad I did not play against her luck."

The captain mumbled something about a difference between luck and skill, while 'Tana swept the money off the table and laughed—not a pleasant laugh, either.

"One—two—three—four!—twenty dollars—that is about a dollar a minute, isn't it?" she asked provokingly. "Well, captain, I guess we are square up to to-night, and if you want to open another account, I'm ready."

She spoke with the dash and recklessness of a boy. Lyster noticed it again, and resented it silently. But when she turned, she read the displeasure in his eyes.

"Oh, it's you, is it?" she inquired airily. "Is it time for our dance? You see, the captain wanted some amusement, and, as the doctor was nearly asleep over the cards, I came in and helped them out."

"Beautifully," agreed the doctor.

But Lyster borrowed no cheeriness from their smiles.

"I think it is our dance," Lyster observed. "And if you will come—"

"Certain," she said, with a nod; but at the door she paused. "Won't you keep this money for me?" she asked. "I've no pocket. And just put a five in a locked pocket 'for keeps,' please; I owe it to you."

"To me? You won that five."

"No, I didn't; I cheated you," she whispered. "Keep it, please do."

She pushed the money into his hand. One piece of it fell and rolled to the feet of the stranger, who leaned carelessly against the doorway, but in such a position that he could easily see into the sitting room.

He stooped and picked up the money.

"Yours, miss?" he said, courteously, and she smilingly reached out her hand for it—the hand on which Overton's gift, the strange ring, glittered.

The paralytic stranger barely repressed an exclamation as he noticed it, and from it his eyes went swiftly, questioningly, to the girl's face.

"Yes, it's mine," she said, with a nod of thanks. Then she smiled a little as she saw where his attention was given. "Are you wondering if the snakes you see are the result of odd drinks? Well, they are not; they are of metal and won't hurt you."

"Beg pardon, miss. Guess I did look at your pretty ring sharp; and it is enough to make a man shake if he's been drinking. But a little drink will do me a long time."

Then Lyster and the girl passed on, the girl smiling at the little exchange of words with the stranger. But Lyster himself was anything but well pleased at the entire affair. He resented the fact that he had found her there gambling, that she had shown such skill, that she had turned to the seedy-looking stranger and exchanged words, as men might do, but as a girl assuredly should not do. All these things disturbed him. Why, he could scarcely have told. Only that morning she had been but a little half-savage child, who amused him by her varying moods and sharp speech. But to-night, in her graceful white gown, she seemed to have grown taller and more womanly and winsome. The glances and homage of the most acceptable youths about revealed to him the fact that she was somewhat more than the strong swimmer or clever canoeist. She was deemed charming by others, in a very different fashion than he had thought of her, and she appeared rather too conscious of the fact. He fancied that she even delighted in letting him see that others showed deference to her, when he had only that day teased her as carelessly as he would have teased a boy into a rage.

Then to stop and jest like that with the insignificant stranger by the door! Mr. Lyster said a bad word in his mind, and decided that the presuming masculinity of the settlement would be allowed few chances for favors the remainder of the evening. He intended to guard her himself—a formidable guard for the purpose, as a man would need a good deal of self-reliance to try for favor if so handsome a personality as Lyster's was an opponent.

But the rather shabby stranger, standing by the inner door, scarcely noticed the noticeable young fellow. All his attention was given to the girl who had spoken to him so frankly. She passed on and did not observe his excessive interest. But his eyes lighted up when he heard her voice speaking to him, and his face flushed with color as he stroked his beard with his well hand and gazed after her.

"So this is where the trail begins, is it?" he whispered to the trembling hand at his lips. "Well, I would have looked for it many another place before commencing with a partner of Mr. Dan Overton—law-and-order man. He must have gulled this whole territory beautifully to have them swear by him as they do. And 'Monte' is his protegee! Well, Miss—or Mr. Monte—whichever it is—your girl's toggery is more becoming than the outfit I saw you wear last; but though your hair is a little darker, I'd swear to you anywhere—yes, and to the ring, too. Well, I think I'll rest my weary body in this 'burgh' for a few weeks to come. If the devil hasn't helped his own, and cheated me, this partner—Mr. 'Rivers'—is yet alive and in the flesh. If so, there is one place he will drift sooner or later, and that is to this young gambler. And then—then death will be no sham for him, for I will be here, too."

To 'Tana—jubilant with her victory over her instinctive antagonist, the captain—all the evening was made for her pleasure, and she floated in the paradise of sixteen years; and the world where people danced was the only world worth knowing.

"I will be good now—I can be as good as an angel since I've got even with the captain."

She whispered those words to Lyster, whose hand was clasping hers, whose arm was about her waist, as they, drifted around the rather small circle, to a waltz played on a concertina and a banjo.

She looked up at him, mutely asking him to believe her. Her desire for revenge satisfied, she could be a very good girl now.

It was just then that Overton, who stood outside the window, glanced in and saw her lovely upturned face—saw the red lips move in some pouting protest, to which Lyster smiled but looked doubtfully down at her. To the man watching them from without, the two seemed always so close—so confidential. At times he even wondered if Lyster had not learned more than himself of her life before that day at Akkomi's camp.

All that evening Dan had not once entered the room where they danced, or added in any way to their merry-making. He had stood outside the door most of the time, or sometimes rested a little way from it on a store box, where he smoked placidly, and inspected the people who gathered to the dance.

All the invited guests came early, and perfect harmony reigned within. A few of the unsavory order of citizens had sauntered by, as though taking note of the pleasures from which they were excluded. But it was not until almost twelve o'clock—just after Overton had turned away from watching the waltz—that a pistol shot rang out in the street, and several dancers halted.

Some of the men silently moved to the door, but just then the door was opened by Overton, who looked in.

"It was only my gun went off by accident," he said, carelessly. "So don't let me stampede the party. Go on with your music."

The stranger, Harris, was nearest the door, and essayed to pass out, but Overton touched him on the arm.

"Not just yet," he said hurriedly. "Don't come out or others will follow, and there'll be trouble. Keep them in some way."

Then the door closed. The concertina sobbed and shrieked out its notes, and drowned a murmur of voices on the outside. One man lay senseless close to the doorstep, and four more men with two women stood a little apart from him.

"If another shot is fired, your houses will be torn down over your heads to-morrow," said Overton, threateningly; "and some of you will not be needing an earthly habitation by that time, either."

"Fury! It is Overton!" muttered one of the men to another. "They told us he wasn't in this thing."

"What for you care?" demanded the angry tones of a Dutch woman. "What difference that make—eh? If so be as we want to dance—well, then, we go in and dance—you make no mistake."

But the men were not so aggressive. The most audacious was the senseless one, who had fired the revolver and whom Overton had promptly and quietly knocked down.

"I don't think you men want any trouble of this sort," he remarked, and ignored the women entirely. "If you've been told that I'm not in this, that's just where some one told you a lie; and if it's a woman, you should know better than to follow her lead. If these women get through that door, it will be when I'm an angel. I'm doing you all a good turn by not letting the boys in there know about this. No religion could save you, if I turned them loose on you; so you had better get away quiet, and quick."

The men seemed to appreciate his words.

"That's so," mumbled one.

And as the other woman attempted a protest, one of the men put his hand over her mouth, and, picking her up bodily, walked down the street with her, she all the time kicking and making remarks of a vigorous nature.

The humor of the situation appealed to the delicate senses of her companions, until they laughed right heartily, and the entire tone of the scene was changed from a threat of battle to an excuse for jollity. The man on the ground reeled upward to his feet with the help of a shake from Overton.

"Where's my gun?" he asked, sulkily.

Blood trickling from a cut brow compelled him to keep one eye shut.

"Overton has it," explained one of his friends. "Come on, and don't try another racket."

"I want my gun—it was him hit me," growled the wounded one, whose spirits had not been enlivened by the spectacle the rest had witnessed.

"You are right—it was him," agreed the other, darkly; "and if it hadn't been for breaking up the dance, I guess he'd a-killed you. Come on. You left a ball in his arm by the looks of things, and all he did was to knock you still. He may want to do more to-morrow. But as you have no gun, you'd better wait till then."

The door had been opened, and the light streamed out. Men talked in a friendly, jovial fashion on and about the doorstep. They saw the forms moving away in the shadows, but no sign of disturbance met them.

Overton stood looking in the window at the dancers. The waltz was not yet finished, and 'Tana and Lyster drifted past within a few feet of him. The serenity of their evening had not been disturbed. Her face held all of joyous content—so it seemed to the watcher. She laughed as she danced; and hearing the music of her high, girlish tones, he forgot for a time the stinging little pain in his arm, until his left hand, thrust into his coat pocket, slowly filled with blood. Then Dan turned to the man nearest him.

"If Doctor Harrison is still in there, would you do me the favor of asking him to come outside for a few minutes?" he asked, and the man addressed stepped closer.

"There is a back way into the house. Hadn't you better just step in that way, and have him fix you up? He's in the back room, alone, smoking."

Overton turned with an impatient exclamation, and a sharp, questioning look. It was the half-paralyzed stranger—Harris.

"Oh, I ain't interfering!" he said, amiably. "But as I slipped out through the back door before your visitors left, I dropped to the fact that you had some damage done to that left arm. Yes, I'll carry any message you like to your doctor, for I like your nerve. But I must say it's thankless work to stand up as a silent target for cold lead, just so some one else may dance undisturbed. Take an old man's advice, sonny, do some of the dancing yourself."



CHAPTER IX.

THE STRANGER'S WARNING.

That one festive night decided the immediate future of 'Tana. All her joy in it did not prevent a decision that it should be the last in her experience, for a year to come, at least.

It was Lyster who broached the subject, and Overton looked at him closely while he talked.

"You are right," he decided, at last; "a school is the easiest path out of this jungle, I reckon. I thought of a school, but didn't know where—I'm not posted on such things. But if you know the trail to a good one, we'll fix it. She has no family folks at all, so—"

"I'd like to ask, if it's allowable—"

"Don't ask me about her people," said the other, quickly; "she wouldn't want me to talk of them. You see, Max, all sorts get caught in whirlpools of one sort or another, when ventures are made in a new country like this, and often it's a thoroughbred that goes under first, while a lot of scrub stock will pull through an epidemic and never miss a feed. Well, her folks belonged to the list that has gone under—speculating people, you know, who left her stranded when they started 'over the range,' and she's sensitive about it—has a sort of pride, too, and doesn't want to be pitied, I guess. Anyway, I've promised she sha'n't be followed by any reminder of her misfortunes, and I can't go into details."