"The Beauty of the Spring! Then thou art well-named, little sister!"
The girl flushed with pleasure. The flame that had leapt in her dark eyes at their first meeting burned once more, and where, but for an interruption, the conversation would have drifted can only be conjectured. But at that precise moment the tall Indian called to her.
"Miskodeed."
The girl moved swiftly to him and with a gesture that was almost royal the Indian pointed to a pile of trade goods heaped upon the long counter. The girl gathered as much as was possible in her arms, and staggered with her load from the store, and as Factor Rodwell nodded to him, Hubert Stane moved up the counter, and began to give his order. The factor wrote it down without comment, glancing at his customer from time to time with shrewd appraising eyes, and when Stane had paid for the goods which were to be ready before noon, he asked a question.
"New to the district, aren't you?"
"I wintered here," replied Stane briefly.
"Then you did no trapping," said the factor with a laugh, "or you'd have brought your pelts in. I guess you must be prospecting?"
"I have done a little," agreed Stane, a touch of reserve in his manner.
"A lonely job!" commented the factor.
"Yes," was Stane's reply, then he nodded and turned towards the door.