judge?"

"I am." The calm assurance of the man fanned her rising anger, and,
when she answered, her voice was low and steady, with the tonelessness
of forced control.

"And your name, you Oligarch of the Far Outland? May I presume to ask
your name?"

"Why ask? My name you already know. And upon the word of yon scum,
you have judged. By the glint o' hate, as you looked into my eyes, I
know--for one does not so welcome a stranger beyond the outposts. But,
since you have asked, I will tell you; my name is MacNair--Robert
MacNair, by my christening--Bob MacNair, in the speech of the
country----"

"And, _Brute_ MacNair, upon the Athabasca?"

"Yes. Brute MacNair--upon the Athabasca--and the Slave, and
Mackenzie--and in the haunts of the whiskey-runners, and 'Fool'
MacNair--in Winnipeg."

"And among the oppressed and the down-trodden? Among those whose
heritage of freedom you have torn from them? What do they call
you--those whom you have forced into serfdom?" For a fleeting instant
the girl caught the faintest flicker, a tiny twinkle of amusement, in
the steely eyes. But, when the man answered, his eyes were steady.

"_They_ call me friend."