out? You're getting to be pretty close to a man now, and it isn't
suitable for you to let yourself be talked to that way. You always
stand like a fool and take it from him."

Pete turned. "Oh, well," he answered good-humoredly, "I guess maybe
he's tired. Let up, Hugh, will you? I'll finish your boot after
dinner."

"The hell you will! You'll do it now!" Venting on his brother his
anger at the woman's intervention, Garth swung his misshapen body
around the end of the table and thrust an elbow violently against
Pete's chest. The attack was so unexpected that Pete staggered, lost
his balance, and stepping down into the shallow depression of a
pebbled hearth, fell, twisting his ankle. The agony was sharp. After
a dumb minute he lifted a white face and pulled himself up, one hand
clutching the board mantel. "Now you've done it!" he said between
his teeth. "How will you get your pelts to the station now? I won't
be able to take them."

There ensued a dismayed silence. The woman had come back from the
kitchen and stood with a steaming dish in her hands. After the brief
pause of consternation she set down the dish and went over to Pete.
"Here," she said, "sit down and let me take off your moccasin and
bathe your ankle before it begins to swell."

Hugh Garth had seated himself in the thronelike chair at the head
of the table. His expression was still defiant, indifferent, and
lordly. "Come and eat your dinner, both of you," he commanded. "You've
had your lesson, Pete. After this, I guess you'll do what I tell you
to--not choose the work that happens to suit your humor. Don't, for