ughed scornfully.

"You hate him, but you got put food in his trail."

Bela hung her head. "I hate him!" she repeated doggedly.

Musq'oosis filled his pipe, and puffed at it meditatively for a while.

"You could get him," he said at last.

Bela looked at him with a new hope.

"But you got do w'at I tell you. Crying' won't get him. A man hates a
cryin' woman. Mak' a dry face and let on you don' care 'bout him at
all. All tam laugh at him. You can't do that, I guess. Too moch fool!"

Bela frowned resentfully. "I can do it," she declared.

"All right," said Musq'oosis, "Let him go now. Keep away from him a
while. Let him forget his mad."

"All right," agreed Bela.

"Now go see your mot'er," commanded Musq'oosis. "She sicken for you.
She is white, too."

Bela, however, made no move to go. She was painstakingly plucking
blades of grass.

"Well, wa't you waitin' for?" demanded Musq'oosis.

"Sam walkin' this way," she said with an inscrutable face. "Got no
blanket. Be cold to-night, I think."

"Wa! More foolishness!" he cried. "Let him shake a little. Cure his
hot mad maybe."

"White man get sick with cold," persisted Bela. "Not lak us. What good
my waitin', if he get sick?"

Musq'oosis held up both his hands. "There is not'ing lak a woman!" he
cried. "Go to your mot'er. I will paddle by the lake and give him a
rabbit robe."

Bela's eyes flashed a warm look on him. She got up without speaking,
and hastened away.

* * * * *

About half-past nine, while it was still light, Sam found himself
walked out. He built a fire on the pine needles above the stony beach
and sat down with his back against a tree. The goose provided him with
another meal. He was two hours' journey beyond the mouth of
Hah-wah-sepi.

Wading across the bar of that stream, he had guessed his proximity to
the Indian village as described by Bela, but his pride would not allow
him to apply there for shelter.

He had no reason to suppose that Bela had already got home, but he
feared she might arrive before he could get away. Anyhow, he had
plenty to eat, he told himself; it would be strange if he couldn't
last a night or two without a covering.

He lay down by his fire, but, tired as he was, he could get no rest.
Whichever way he lay, a cold chill from the earth struck to his
marrow. He fell into a wretched, half-waking condition, tormented by
images he could not control.

When he edged close enough to t