"The story in outline is true. The details are false. There never was anything between that woman and me. She was accidentally shot by my trumpeter in the uprising. She told me the way the rebels had taken, and died—I suppose, in my arms. I did owe a great deal to her, because of that information. I never pretended that I did not. You know that, Mac."
MacFarlane stared fiercely at the floor.
"Mac, the Indians, at least of those days, had fine principles. Among other things, they believed in purity—their women took an oath of purity and the penalties for those who broke it were very heavy. Our superior white people have nothing like that oath or law. They don't take a public vow of that kind; they don't suffer as the Indian woman suffered when she overstepped the law. That poor Indian girl, who knew nothing of the refinements of civilization, so called, was as good as gold—far better than many white women."
MacFarlane clenched his fists restlessly. Every word drove into him like a driven nail.
"Mac, that story's a lie!" Hector's hand crashed suddenly to the table. "Never, never, never was there anything between that girl and me. I know I can't prove it. I know that twenty papers have taken up the yarn and if the man who printed it had his way it would be all over Canada, with the names filled in—the gossips have coupled us with it now, as it is. That's the hell of it—I can't fight it—can't prove what I say or speak a word in defence of either of us. But it's a lie! Now, listen, Mac. The only man who knew of my earlier relations with Moon sits in this room at this moment. You gave that story to Molyneux—my worst enemy—and I thought you were a friend of mine."
MacFarlane had never suspected that Hector would guess. But now, when cornered, he made no attempt to deny the charge—though it marked him as a traitor.
"Mac—why did you do it?"
Hector's voice came quietly to him. Then the thought of his fancied wrongs flamed into his brain.
"You know why I did it, damn you—you know! How in God's name can you sit there and ask me 'Why'?"
He pounded the chair with his fists.