“Gad! it’s good to have a white man to talk to!” said Conacher. “I’m damn thankful it’s you, old scout. I couldn’t have told the others.”
“But why this emotion?” asked Jordan humorously.
“Well, it concerns a woman,” said Conacher, looking away.
His friend’s face hardened. “An Indian?” he asked.
“No, damn you!” cried Conacher indignantly. “What do you think I am?”
Jordan opened his eyes. “But between here and the Rocky Mountains,” he said, “around Blackburn’s Lake, and down Blackburn’s River, what else is there?”
“There is Blackburn’s daughter?” murmured Conacher.
“Oho!” cried Jordan. “I forgot about her. . . . Indeed, I thought she was still a little girl.”
“Don’t josh it!” muttered Conacher. “This is the real thing.”
“I’m sorry, old man,” said Jordan, touching his shoulder.