boy to misread what he said.
The capitulation had not waited for the passionate challenge Marcel had
been prepared to make.

"You--mean that, Uncle?"

"Surely. If you're yearning to take a hand, boy, I don't figger to get
in your way." Steve closed up the books on his desk and dropped them
back in the drawer from which he had taken them. Then he thrust back
his chair and prepared to join the other in a smoke. "I've got just two
feelings on this thing, Marcel," he went on, as he filled his pipe. "I'm
glad you feel that way, but I'm kind of sorry to think you're going
along with me. You see, I kind of think of you as my son. I've done all
I know in fourteen years to teach you my notion of what a man needs to
be. I've done the best I know that way. And I'd have hated to find you
short of the grit I reckon this enterprise is going to need." He
laughed. "If you'd have turned out a sort of 'Squaw-man' I guess I'd
have hated you like a nigger. But there wasn't a chance of it, with a
father and mother like you had. No." He lit his pipe, and settled
himself in his chair. "The way you've learned to beat the summer trail,
your woodcraft. You're a 'great hunter and brave,' as An-ina says, and
you've got every Indian I've ever known left cold behind you. You've
grown to all I've hoped, and I'm glad. And now--now this great last
enterprise is coming along, why, it just leaves me proud thinking that
you couldn't listen to the yarn of it, even, without reckoning to be on
the outfit yourself. I'm glad--just glad."

Marcel's eyes shone. Steve's approval, unqualified, was something he had
not hoped for. He had been prepared to battle for his rights as a man,
and now--now the wonder of it. He was admitted to the task confronting
them without question; with only cordial agreement. He remembered with
regret his outburst to An-ina, when he had been waiting for Steve's
return from Seal Bay.

"You see," he burst out with impulsive frankness, "I was scared you'd
hold me to the fort, Uncle, the same as it's been every winter. I was
just getting mad thinking I was only fit for the open summer trail,
chasing up pelts with a bunch of these doper neches. Oh, yes. It set me
mad. And I told An-ina. I'm not a kid, Uncle. Guess I'm all the man
I'll ever be, and I just want to get busy on a man's work. I can't stand
for seeing you doing these things for me. You don't get younger. And
I--I'm bursting with health and muscle, and my spirit's just crying