"Au revoir," echoed the chief trader.
Basil bobbed on over the rough portage, pondering on Glyndon as he went.
"Hees eyes too soft," was his conclusion. "Mooch too soft for dis beeg Nord!"
CHAPTER II
THE LODGE IN THE WILDERNESS
Dunvegan lifted the flap of the Cree wigwam and knew that the third of his missions was ended. Within the primitive tepee on a pile of rabbit-skin blankets sat Flora Macleod, the Factor's fugitive daughter. Her personal appearance bordered on the squalid, for toilette necessaries were lacking in the tent. Her eyes shone defiantly into the chief trader's, glinting dark like her coal-black hair.
Altogether, Bruce thought her somber eyes and swarthy skin held but little difference from those of the Indians who ruled these lodges on the Katchawan. To her breast she hugged a bundled infant whose blue eyes and fair skin bespoke its white fathering.
"What brought you here?" she demanded, with an almost ferocious abruptness.
"You," answered Dunvegan. "You and the boy. Your father will have you wife to no Nor'wester. Nor will he have his daughter's son bear a Nor'wester's name. He intends giving the babe his own——"