"No; he left this country months ago," said Rachel. "Kalitan is a bit of a wanderer—never long in one place."
"Davy MacDougall says he'd allus loaf around here if Genesee would, but he's sure to go trottin' after Genesee soon as he takes a trail."
"That is the Indian you spoke of this morning, is it not?" asked Stuart, looking at Rachel.
"What!" roared Jim; and Hardy, who was taking a nap behind a paper, awoke with a start. "Genesee an Injun! Well, that's good!" and he broke into shrill, boyish laughter. "Well, you ought to just say it to his face, that's all!"
"Is he not?" he asked, still looking at the girl, who did not answer.
"Oh, no," said Tillie; "he is a white man, a—a—well, he has lived with the Indians, I believe."
"I understood you to say he himself was an Indian." And Rachel felt the steady regard of those warm eyes, while she tried to look unconscious, and knew she was failing.
Hardy laughed, and shook himself rightly awake.
"Beg your pardon," he said, coming to the rescue, "but she didn't say so; she only gave you the information that he was pure-blooded; and I should say he is—as much of a white man as you or I."
"Mine was the mistake," acknowledged Stuart, with his old easy manner once more; "but Miss Rachel's love of a joke did not let me fall into it without a leader. And may I ask who he is, this white man with the Indian name—what is he?"