He went inside. A minute later he appeared at the flap and called to
Billy.

"Look here!" he said, and there was a tremble of excitement in his
voice. His eyes were blazing with an ugly triumph. "Your half-breed
had pretty long hair, didn't he?"

He pointed to a splinter on one of the light tent-poles. Billy's heart
gave a sudden jump. A tress of Isobel's long, loose hair had caught in
the splinter, and a dozen golden-brown strands had remained to give
him away. For a moment he forgot that Bucky Smith was watching him. He
saw Isobel again as she had last entered the tent, her beautiful hair
flowing in a firelit glory about her, her eyes still filled with
tender gratitude. Once more he felt the warmth of her lips, the touch
of her hand, the thrill of her presence near him. Perhaps these
emotions covered any suspicious movement or word by which he might
otherwise have betrayed himself. By the time they were gone he had
recovered himself, and he turned to his companion with a low laugh.

"It's a woman's hair, all right, Bucky. He told me all sorts of nice
things about a girl `back home.' They must have been true."

The eyes of the two men met unflinchingly. There was a sneer on Buck's
lips; Billy was smiling.

"I'm going to follow this Frenchman after we've had a little rest,"
said the corporal, trying to cover a certain note of excitement and
triumph in his voice. "There's a woman traveling with Scottie Deane,
you know-- a white woman-- and there's only one other north of
Churchill. Of course, you're anxious to get back your stolen outfit?"