Ellen wondered if he had heard of her meeting with Jean Isbel. If not he would hear as soon as Simm Bruce and Lorenzo came back. She decided to forestall them.
“Dad, I met Jean Isbel. He came into my camp. Asked the way to the Rim. I showed him. We—we talked a little. And shore were gettin’ acquainted when—when he told me who he was. Then I left him—hurried back to camp.”
“Colter met Isbel down in the woods,” replied Jorth, ponderingly. “Said he looked like an Indian—a hard an’ slippery customer to reckon with.”
“Shore I guess I can indorse what Colter said,” returned Ellen, dryly. She could have laughed aloud at her deceit. Still she had not lied.
“How’d this heah young Isbel strike you?” queried her father, suddenly glancing up at her.
Ellen felt the slow, sickening, guilty rise of blood in her face. She was helpless to stop it. But her father evidently never saw it. He was looking at her without seeing her.
“He—he struck me as different from men heah,” she stammered.
“Did Sprague tell you aboot this half-Indian Isbel—aboot his reputation?”
“Yes.”
“Did he look to you like a real woodsman?”