rrifying to ze leetle Mam'zelle because she is unused--eh?
Me! I be terrified at ze beeg city where she come from, p'r'aps. Zey
tell Pete 'bout waggings run wizout horses, like stea'mill. Ugh! No
wanter see dem. Debbil in 'em," and he laughed, not unpleasantly, making
a small joke of the suggestion.

Indeed his voice, now that the sharpness of excitement had gone out of
it, was a very pleasant voice. The broken words he used assured Nan that
his mother tongue must be French. He was probably one of the "Canucks"
she had heard her cousins speak of. French Canadians were not at all
strange to Nan Sherwood, for in Tillbury many of the mill hands were of
that race.

But she thought it odd that this man kept his face studiously turned
from her. Was he watching the bobcat all the time? Was the danger much
more serious than he would own?

"Why don't you look at me?" cried the girl, at length. "I'm awfully much
obliged to you for coming to help me as you did. And my uncle will want
to thank you I am sure. Won't you tell me your name?"

The man was silent for a moment. Then, when he spoke, his voice was
lower and there was an indescribably sad note in it.

"Call me 'Injun Pete', zat me. Everybody in de beeg Woods know Injun
Pete. No odder name now. Once ze good Brodders at Aramac goin' make
scholar of Pete, make heem priest, too, p'r'aps. He go teach among
he's mudder's people. Mudder Micmac, fadder wild Frinchman come to dees
lakeshore. But nev-air can Pete be Teacher, be priest. Non, non! Jes'
Injun Pete."

Nan suddenly remembered what little Margaret Llewellen had said about
the fire at Pale Lick, and "Injun Pete." The fact that this man kept
his face turned from her all this time aroused her suspicion. She was
deeply, deeply grateful to him for what he had just done for her, and,
naturally, she enlarged in her mind the peril in which she had been
placed.

Margaret had suggested this unfortunate half-breed was "not right in his
head" because of the fire which had disfigured him. But he spoke very
sensibly now, it seemed to Nan; very pitifully, too, about his blasted
hopes of a clerical career. She said, quietly:

"I expect you know my uncle and his family, Pete. He is Mr. Sherwood of
Pine Camp."

"Ah! Mis-tair Hen Sherwood! I know heem well," admitted the man. "He
nice-a man ver' kind to Injun Pete."

"I'd like to have you look at me, please," said Nan, still softly. "You
see, I want to know you again if we meet.