The mother set the scones on the table and glanced over it with approving eyes. The girl's protest came swiftly but playfully.
"Be quiet, you mother dear," she cried, her ready blushes mounting again. "Don't you dare to say—things. I——"
The mother only smiled the more deeply.
"Best go and round Alec up. Supper's ready."
But the girl hesitated.
"He's at the barns fixing his outfit with Keewin," she said. "He reckons to break trail in a few days. Say, Murray's gone across to Father José with them. Will I get him, too?" Then she added thoughtfully, "Do you know, mother, I don't think Murray's glad to see John Kars. He's sort of quiet with him around. I don't know. I don't reckon he likes him. I wonder why?"
The mother's eyes searched her daughter's face. Her smile must have been full of meaning for any one less simple than the girl before her.
"There's no accounting the way men feel for each other," she said at last. "Maybe Murray guesses John Kars is butting into our trade. Maybe he's anxious to keep the country to ourselves. You see, these folks aren't traders, and we are."
The girl became indignant at once.
"But he's no right to feel that way," she cried. "The country's free. It's big enough for us all. Besides, if John Kars isn't a trader, where's the trouble? I think Murray's mean. That's all."