tightly across her
breast, and, for some inexplicable reason, Chloe found the stare
disconcerting. The enthusiasm of her victory damped perceptibly. For
if the fish-eyed stare held nothing of reproach, it certainly held
nothing of approbation. Almost the girl read a condescending pity in
the stare of the china-blue eyes. The thought stung, and she faced the
other wrathfully.

"Well, for Heaven's sake say something! Don't stand there and stare
like a--a billikin! Can't you talk?"

"Yah, Ay tank Ay kin; but Ay von't--not yat."

"What do you mean?" cried the exasperated girl, as she flung herself
into a chair. But without deigning to answer, Big Lena turned heavily
into the kitchen, and closed the door with a bang that impoverished
invective--for volumes may be spoken--in the banging of a door. The
moment was inauspicious for the entrance of Harriet Penny. At best,
Chloe merely endured the little spinster, with her whining, hysterical
outbursts, and abject, unreasoning fear of God, man, the devil, and
everything else. "Oh, my dear, I am so glad!" piped the little woman,
rushing to the girl's side: "we need never fear him again, need we?"

"Nobody ever did fear him but you," retorted Chloe.

"But, Mr. Lapierre said----"

The girl arose with a gesture of impatience, and Miss Penny returned to
MacNair. "He is so big, and coarse, and horrible! I am sure even his
looks are enough to frighten a person to death."

Chloe sniffed. "I think he is handsome, and he is big and strong. I
like big people."

"But, my dear!" cried the horrified Miss Penny. "He--he kills Indians!"

"So do I!" snapped the girl, and stamped angrily into her own room,
where she threw herself upon the bed and gave way to bitter
reflections. She hated everyone. She hated MacNair, and Big Lena, and
Harriet Penny, and the officer of the Mounted. She hated Lapierre and
the Indians, too. And then, realizing the folly of her blind hatred,
she hated herself for hating. With an effort she regained her poise.

"MacNair is out of the way; and that's the main thing," she murmured.
She remembered his last words: "Beware of Pierre Lapierre," and her
eyes sought the man's hastily scribbled note that lay upon the table
where he had left it. She reread the note, and crumpling it in her
hand threw it to the floor. "He always manages to be some place else
when anything happens!" she exclaimed. "Oh, why couldn't it have been
the other way around