Even Senator Hall joined the majority—for did he not already have his money safely invested? Besides, he could be censured by Burroughs no more than many others who had taken his money and betrayed him.
"Speech! speech!" yelled the crowd. But Danvers could not speak.
"Let us go," whispered Mrs. Burroughs, as the demonstration continued. She looked half in scorn, half in pity, on her husband, frustrated in the ambition of years by the man he most hated—her brother. "Let us go, Robert," she repeated.
The young daughter crept nearer and clasped her father's icy hand. She did not understand the accusations made against a father who had shown her nothing but love.
"Better luck next time, Bob," consoled Moore. "Don't let everybody see how hard hit you are. Danvers is elected only for the short term, you know—four years."
Choking, Burroughs attempted to force his way through the cheering, struggling mob, and to clear a path for his wife and daughter. But as the crowd gave way, in deference to the women, a new obstruction presented itself.
Robert Burroughs did not recognize the slouching, dirty buck blocking his way as Me-Casto, the once haughty pride of the Blackfeet federation, or the obese, filthy squaw as Pine Coulee. The work of civilization had obviously been in vain. But this tall, strapping 'breed reaching out his unwashed hand! Burroughs gazed at a replica of himself as he had been at Fort Macleod.
"Him you father?" questioned the half-breed, addressing the frightened daughter. He had been well coached by the grinning McDevitt, so close behind him.
"She you mother?" He pointed to Kate Danvers, high bred and aristocratic in her scorn.
"She my mother," the 'breed went on, fiendishly, indicating the toothless, loathsome squaw, whose vindictive eyes never wavered from Burroughs' craven face. "Him both our father!" The common parent was given a fillip of a contemptuous thumb and finger.