reason. A murmur went up from the other bystanders.

Sam Bolton arose quietly to take his place at Dick's elbow. As yet there
was no danger of violence, except from the outraged Chippewa. The Crees
were startled, but they had not yet taken sides. All depended on an
intrepid front. For a moment they stared at one another, the Indians
uncertain, the Anglo-Saxons, as always, fiercely dominant in spirit, no
matter what the odds against them, as long as they are opposed to what
they consider the inferior race.

Then a flying figure glided to the two. May-may-gwán, palpitating with
fear, thrust their rifles into the white men's hands, then took her
stand behind them.

But Haukemah interfered with all the weight of his authority.

"Stop!" he commanded, sharply. "There is no need that friends should
bear weapons. What are you doing, my young men? Do you judge these
saganash without hearing what they have to say? Ask of them if what the
Chippewa says is true."

"The robe is fine. I gave it for the reason I said," replied Dick.

The Cree young men, shaken from their instinctive opposition, sank back.
It was none of their affair, after all, but a question of veracity
between Dick and his enemy. And the Chippewa enjoyed none too good a
reputation. The swift crisis had passed.

Dick laughed his boyish, reckless laugh.