"Is it?" The mother's eyes were searching.
"Nearly."
Jessie laughed.
"Best tell me the rest."
The girl shook her head decidedly.
"No, mother. There's no need. You're wiser than you pretend. Murray's a better friend and partner—in business—than anything else. Guess we best leave it that way."
"Yes, it's best that way." The mother was regarding the pretty face before her with deep affection. "But I told Murray he'd have to lay his plans before you—himself. That's why he wants to see you up at the Fort."
The girl's response came at once, and with an impulsive readiness.
"Then I'll go up, right away," she said. Nor was there the smallest display of any of the reluctance she really felt.
The girl stood framed in the great gateway of the old stockade. The oilskin reached almost to her slim ankles. It was dripping and the hat of the same material which almost entirely enveloped her ruddy brown head was trailing a stream of water on to her shoulders.