er blame you."

The boy turned away his head. "I--I can't talk about it," he faltered.
"If you go on that way you'll have me crying like a girl! You could talk
all night, and it wouldn't do any good! What do you think I am? I'm not
going to miss the fun!"

Garth laughed. "Turn in," he said briefly. "You'll need all the sleep
you can get."

XI

THE FIGHT IN THE STORM

Garth and Natalie were wondering next morning with what kind of a face
Nick Grylls would greet them. He was the last to come off to the boat.
Hooliam took possession of the punt as a matter of course, to bring
him aboard; but Garth, determined not to allow the slightest act of
insolence to pass unchallenged to-day, curtly ordered it back; and the
fat trader was obliged to wade out like the breeds, and scramble over
the side of the _Loseis_--a very undignified reentrance upon the scene.

His demeanour was remarkable. All the way out from the shore he had
probably been shaping the character in which he meant to make his
bow. He threw a leg over the side of the boat, affecting all his old,
blustering heartiness; but the first sight of Natalie and Garth awaiting
him, wholly self-possessed and unconcerned--they had determined
in advance not to stoop to the pretense of any surprise at seeing
him--pricked him like a blown bladder. His eyes bolted; he nodded at
them askance; and he mumbled the words he had been intending to shout.
Catching sight of Charley directly, he attempted to carry off his
discomfiture by assuming an added boisterousness.

"Hello, Charley!" he cried. "What's the good word, boy?"

"Hello, Mr. Grylls," returned Charley with a demure grin, that was
highly creditable to his powers of dissimulation. "Where did you drop
from?"

Grylls guffawed with an overdone assumption of a man at his ease. "Oh,
I got a sudden call up to the Settlement," he said, in a tone meant
to reach Garth's ears. "Got a big deal on to sell out my posts on the
Spirit. I overtook you folks last night; and sent my canoe back. Thought
I might as well save money. Have a cigar?"

"Thanks," said Charley. The boy lighted it elaborately, and commended
the quality with the air of a connoisseur.

"You're all right, kid!" cried Nick, clapping him on the back. "I tell
you I'm blame glad to have a white man to talk to on the way up"--this
with a side glance at Garth. "What are you doing away from home at this
season?"

"Grub running low," said Charley readily. "Had