“Well,” said Campbell slowly, “ye’ll be understanding by this time that the Snow-Burner is no ordinar’ man?”
“He’s a fiend—a savage with an Oxford education!” exploded Toppy.
“He is—the Snow-Burner,” said Campbell with finality. “You know what he is toward men. Toward women—he’s worse!”
“Not that he is a woman-chaser. No; ’tis not his way. But—yon man has the strongest will in him I’ve ever seen in mortal man, and ’tis the will women bow to.” He pulled his whiskers nervously and looked away. “I’ve known him four year now, and no woman in that time that he has set his will upon but in the end has—has followed him like a slave.”
Toppy’s fists clenched, and he joyed to find that in spite of his illness his muscles went hard.
“Ye’ve seen Tilly,” continued Scotty with averted eyes. “Ye’ll not be so blind that ye’ve not observed that she’s no ordinar’ squaw. Well, three years ago Tilly was teacher in the Chippewa Indian School—thin and straight—a Carlisle graduate and all. She met Reivers, and shunned him—at first. Reivers did not chase her. ’Tis not his way. But he bent his will upon her, and the poor girl left her life behind her and followed him, and kept following him, until ye see her as she is now. She would cut your throat or nurse ye as she did, no matter which, did he but command her. And she’s not been the only one, either.
“Nor have the rest of them been red.”
“The swine!” muttered Toppy.
“More wolf than swine, lad. Perhaps more tiger than wolf. I don’t think Reivers intends to break his word to yon lass. But I suspect that he won’t have to. No; as it looks now, he won’t. Given the opportunity to put his will upon her and she’ll change her mind—like the others.”