He knew Annette’s headlong temper, her impulse. He felt he knew by heart the nature of the clay he was seeking to mould. Annette had no real cleverness. She had a measure of nimbleness. In truth she was just a beautiful young animal full of a glorious joy of life. She was utterly desirable, of course, but nevertheless, a brainless, hot-blooded animal. That was all.
He forgot to complete the filling of his pipe. Instead he returned it to his pocket and rubbed his hands.
Then what would be the result, he asked himself? What must be the result? Annette had come to him with her woman’s purpose of forcing his hand. She meant him to father her child in the eyes of her world in Buffalo Coulee. She was a half-breed and he was white. And full well he knew the crazy desire of her kind for a white husband. She—yes—she would sacrifice anything—anybody—for the thing she wanted. She had been shocked in those first moments of the big idea. But——
Sinclair started. He shot a swift glance at the door of his room, which opened into his outer public office. For an instant he eyed it questioningly. Then he looked at the cheap clock hanging on a nail over his table. But, in a moment, he turned again to the door.
Several moments passed. Then he moved. He moved swiftly. And as he came to the door and flung it wide, the snub nose of an ugly small gun was poking out from the grip of his palm, which an instant before had been quite empty.
The yellow lamplight revealed a fur-clad figure. For an instant Sinclair’s gun hand was raised. Then it lowered. And it resought his pocket as he laughed.
“Say, kid,” he cried a little boisterously, “you gave me quite a scare. I sort of figgered you were some guy looking for my scalp. I was all for perforating your swell furs with a gun that don’t usually quit under ten rounds. Say, you faced this darn storm to see me? Why?”
He held out his arms, and for all the melting snow that was saturating Annette’s furs she was caught and held tightly to him while his hot lips caught hers.
The girl yielded. Then, with a little struggle, she released herself and stood breathing quickly. The dusky blood flushed up to her beautiful cheeks, and a flash of resentment to her eyes.
“I didn’t come around fer that,” she said sharply.