When they were come to his door the trader paused, and, looking back over the glowing tents and up at the star-sprinkled heavens, remarked, as if concluding some train of thought, "If that boy has got the nerve to take a nigger thief out of a miners' meeting and hold him against this whole town, he wouldn't hesitate much at taking a white man, would he?"
"Wal," hesitated the other, "mebbe dat would depen' on de crime."
"Suppose it was—murder?"
"Ha! We ain' got no men lak' dat in Flambeau."
They said good-night, and the old man entered his house to find Alluna waiting for him, a look of worry on her stolid face.
"What's wrong?" he inquired.
"All night Necia has been weeping."
"Is she sick?" He started for the girl's door, but Alluna stopped him.
"No! It is not that kind of weeping; this comes from the heart. It is there she is sick. I went to her, but she grew angry, and said I had a black skin and could not understand; then she went out-doors and has not returned."
Gale sat down dejectedly. "Yes, she's sick in her heart, all right, and so am I, Alluna. When did she go out?"