myself."

Big Jack had the grace to scowl shamefacedly and look away.

"Say, that's right," he muttered. "You're dead right, sister. We got
in wrong. I'm sorry. These other fellows, they're sorry, too. We made
it up together to tell you we was sorry. Give us a chance to show you
we ain't plumb rotten."

The girl dimpled like a white woman. No walled look then.

"All right," she said. "I come to-morrow early. I be your friend."

* * * * *

When the next squall swooped down from the southerly hills, Bela set
off in her dugout from the mouth of the creek. The wind helped carry
her in the direction she wanted to go, and the sheets of rain hid her
from the view of anyone who might be looking out from the shack.

Her Indian upbringing had taught her to disregard bodily comfort.
Streaming like a mermaid, she crouched in her canoe, paddling with the
regularity of a machine.

In two hours she had reached the other shore. By this time it had
cleared, and the late sun was sending long, golden rays down the lake.

She found a scene of industry in the village, for the fishing had
started in earnest. The women were splitting and cleaning the day's
catch, and hanging the fish on racks to cure in the smoke of the
fires. No surprise was elicited by her arrival. Bela had always gone
and come as she chose.

Outside Charley's teepee she found her mother. Loseis's eyes lighted
up at the sight of her, but she said nothing. She followed her into
the teepee and unexpectedly seized and kissed her. They were mutually
embarrassed. Bela had not learned to kiss among the tribe. Charley
came in scowling.

"The fish are running," he said. "Everybody is working now. If you not
work you get no fish."

"Keep your fish," said Bela.

In that teepee she was mum as to her adventures. Having changed her
clothes in her own little bower in the pines, she sought out
Musq'oosis and told him her story.

Musq'oosis was a little sore. He listened, smoking impassively and
tending his share of the fish hanging in the smoke. Meanwhile the sun
went down in troubled crimson splendour over the pines, presaging more
squalls.

When she came to the end he said sententiously: "You foolish go alone.
You want a man."

Bela was mum.

"What you want of me now?" he asked.

"Grease for the wound," said Bela. "A little food for myself."

"All right. I give you. You goin' back?"

"To-night."

"I go with you," suggested Mus