Conacher ascribed this to mere bravado. What a spirited little thing she was! Like a plucky boy; but with all the sweetness of a woman. “We must send to Fort Good Hope for help,” he said.
“Do not speak to me again of Fort Good Hope!” said Loseis. “Gault, the trader there, was my father’s enemy.”
Conacher knew nothing of the feuds of the country. “Yes, yes,” he said soothingly; “but a tragedy like this wipes out old scores. Gault would not take advantage of your situation.”
“You are an outsider,” she said. “You do not know Gault.”
“No man would!” insisted Conacher.
“I will not hand over my father’s Post to Gault!” cried Loseis. “That would bring my father out of his grave!”
“Not hand it over to him,” protested Conacher. “But just let him advise you. He is the only one that can tell you what is best to do; who can arrange things. There is no other white man within hundreds of miles.”
Then it had to come out. “I already know what to do,” said Loseis, very low. “If you would help me, we could do it all together.”
Conacher groaned, and clutched his head. “Oh, God! you don’t understand!” he cried. “And what must you be thinking of me! What a chance to be offered to a man, and I can’t take it!” He tried desperately to explain to her. “You see, I am not free like the men of this country. I am a government employee, tied hand and foot to my work. My whole Summer’s work has been laid out for me. And my little piece is only a part of a great survey of this whole country. I am appointed to join with another party at Great Slave Lake on a certain date, and we in turn must proceed up the Liard River to another rendezvous on the Yukon. If I fail, the whole fails. Don’t you understand?”
She did not wholly understand. “I heard you tell it,” she said a little sullenly.