"Wa-ha-ta-na-ta. She is my mother. She is an Indian, and very old."
"Are you an Indian?" asked the man in such evident surprise that the girl laughed.
"My father was white. I am a breed," she answered; then with a quick lifting of the chin, hastened to add: "But not like the breeds of the rivers! My father was Lacombie, the factor at Crossette, and Wa-ha-ta-na-ta was the daughter of Kas-ka-tan, the chief, and they were married by a priest at the mission.
"That was very long ago, and now Lacombie is dead and the priest also, Wa-ha-ta-na-ta has a paper; also it is written in the book at the mission that men may read it and know."
Carmody was amused at her eagerness and watched the changing expression of her face as she continued more slowly:
"My father was good. But he is dead and, until you came, there has been no good white man."
Bill smiled at the naïve frankness of her.
"Why do you think that I am good?" he inquired.
"In your eyes I have read it. That night, before the wild fever-spirit entered your body, I looked long into your eyes. And has not Jacques told me of how you killed the loup-garou; of how you are hated by Moncrossen, and feared by Creed?
"Do I not know that fire cannot burn you nor water drown? Did you not beat down the greatest of Moncrossen's fighting men? And has not Wabishke told in the woods, to the wonder of all, how you drink no whisky, but pour it upon your feet?"