“What proof?”
“A signed statement by a well-known missionary, declaring that he had united you in marriage.”
For an instant, there was the absolute silence of amazed horror, in which, presently, broke the snorting and chuckling of Maria, who rocked herself back and forth on her haunches, like some witch muttering over an evil brew.
“Where is that statement?” demanded the commissioner.
“Maria had it the last time I knew of its whereabouts.” Fitzpatrick closed his eyes, wearily.
“Maria!” The commissioner's voice was sharp with command and disgust. The withered squaw suddenly stopped her rocking, and opened her little, fire-shot eyes steadily for a moment.
“Douglas!” she said, pronouncing his first name with careless familiarity.
Fitzpatrick, at this breach of ceremony, rose, furious, on his pile of blankets, inarticulate.
But McTavish waved him back.
“Where is that certificate?”