her--she's yours," said Jaquis, in the presence of the company.

"You ill-bred ----" Smith choked, and reached for a tent prop. The next
moment his hand was at the Indian's throat. With a quick twist of his
collar band he shut off the Siwash's wind, choking him to the earth.

"What do you mean?" he demanded, and Jaquis, coughing, put up his hands.
"I meant no lie," said he. "Did you not give to her mother the camp
kettle? She has it, marked G.T.P."

"And what of that?"

"_Voilà_," said Jaquis, "because of that she gave to you the Belle of
Athabasca."

Smith dropped his stick, releasing the Indian.

"I did not mean she is sold to you. She is trade--trade for the empty
pot, the Belle--the beautiful. From yesterday to this day she followed
you, far, very far, to the foot of the Grande Côte, and nothing harmed
her. The mountain lion looked on her in terror, the timber wolf took to
the hills, the black bear backed from the trail and let her pass in
peace," said Jaquis, with glowing enthusiasm. It was the first time he
had talked of her, save to the stars and to We-sec-e-gea, and he glowed
and grew eloquent in praise of her.

"You take her," said Smith, with one finger levelled at the head of the
cook, "to the camp of the Crees. Say to her mother that your master is
much obliged for the beautiful gift, but he's too busy to get married
and too poor to support a wife."