"Not a word to her until after the inquest—until we've a chance to break it to her gently."
The trader nodded agreement and was introduced when she had straightened out her team.
"Mr. Karmack was—is your brother's chief here at lonely young Armistice."
For a moment he held his breath for fear the verb slip would be noticed and the question of tense raised. The girl, however, was too much interested in her surroundings to heed. The trader helped by bowing in his best manner and seizing one of her mittened hands in both his own for a warm greeting.
"A fine lad, Oliver. Dear eyes, what a fine chap!"
His startling exclamative caused her own eyes to open, but Karmack merely grinned in amiable fashion.
"I hope you and your friends will accept the poor hospitality of the trading post, at least for this night," he concluded heartily. "We'll have plenty of room."
"But isn't there a mission house," began the girl. "I thought the Morrows——"
Seymour interrupted.
"Nothing doing, Karmack, with your commercialized hospitality. They're the first visitors of the winter; I claim them in the name of the king." He turned to the girl. "The mission house hasn't been opened for months. We'll make you comfortable at the detachment barrack—won't have to use the guard room, either. If you'll draw rein at the flag pole——"