"That is possible," answered Ainley. "When a man has deliberately buried himself in this wild land he will hardly wish to be resurrected."
"And yet he did not appear to avoid you yesterday?" said the girl thoughtfully.
"A momentary impulse, I suppose," replied her companion easily. "I daresay he thought I might fraternise and forget the past."
"And you couldn't?"
"Well, scarcely. One does not fraternise with gaol-birds even for old time's sake."
They had now arrived at the tepees and as they halted, the flap of one was thrown aside, and Miskodeed emerged. She did not see them, as the moment she stepped into the open air her eyes turned towards the willows where Stane's camp had been. A look of sadness clouded the wild beauty of her face, and there was a poignant light in her eyes.
"Ah!" whispered Helen Yardely. "She knows that he has gone."
"Perhaps it is just as well for her that he has," answered Ainley carelessly. "These marriages of the country are not always happy—for the woman."
Miskodeed caught the sound of his voice, and, turning suddenly, became aware of their presence. In an instant a swift change came over her face. Its sadness vanished instantly, and as her eyes flashing fiercely fixed themselves upon Ainley, a look of scorn came on her face intensifying its bizarre beauty. She took a step forward as if she would speak to the white man, then apparently changed her mind, and swinging abruptly on her heel, re-entered the tent. Helen Yardely glanced swiftly at her companion, and surprised a look of something very like consternation in his eyes.
"That was very queer!" she said quickly.