The Fur Bringers. Footner Hulbert

related other incidents of a like character, Ambrose listened with ever mounting indignation. There could be no mistaking the truthful ring of the simple details.

      Not only was Ambrose's sense of humanity up in arms, but the trader in him was angered that a competitor should profit by such unfair means. With a list of grievances on one side and unqualified sympathy on the other, the two progressed in friendship.

      They breakfasted together, Job making a third. Ambrose found himself more and more strongly drawn to the young fellow. He was reminded that he had no friend of his own age in the country. Tole, he said to himself, was whiter than many a white man he had known.

      Job, who as a rule drew the colorline sharply, was polite to Tole. Job was pleased because Tole ignored him. Uninvited overtures from strangers made Job self-conscious.

      Tole and Ambrose, being young, drifted away from serious business after a while. They discussed sport. Tole lost some of his gravity in talking about hunting the moose.

      Not until Tole was on the point of embarking did the real object of his visit transpire. "My father say he want you come to his house," he said diffidently.

      "Sure I will," said Ambrose.

      Tole lingered by his dugout, affecting to test the elasticity of his paddle on the stones. He glanced at Ambrose with a speculative eye.

      "Maybe you and Peter Minot open a store across the river and trade with us," he suggested with a casual air.

      Ambrose was staggered by the possibilities it opened up. He knew the idea was already in Peter's mind. What if he, Ambrose, should be chosen to carry it out? He sparred for wind.

      "I don't know," he said warily. "There is much to be considered. I will talk with your father."

      Tole nodded and pushed off.

CHAPTER IX.

       Table of Contents

      LOVERS.

      Ambrose and Colina had had no opportunity the night before to arrange for another meeting. Ambrose stuck close to his camp, feeling somehow that the next move should come from her.

      It was not that he had been unduly alarmed by her father's threat, though he had a young man's healthy horror of being humiliated in the beloved one's presence.

      But the real reason that kept him inactive was an instinctive compunction against embroiling Colina with her father. She had only known him, Ambrose, a day; she should have a chance to make sure of her own mind, he felt.

      As to what he would do if Colina made no move, Ambrose could not make up his mind. He considered a night expedition to the fort; he considered sending a message by Tole. Either plan had serious disadvantages. It was a hard nut to crack.

      Then he heard hoofs on the prairie overhead. His heart leaped up and his problems were forgotten. He sprang to the bank. Job heard the hoofs, too, and recognized the horse. Job hopped into the empty dugout, and lay down in the bow out of sight, like a child in disgrace.

      At the sight of her racing toward him a dizzying joy swept over Ambrose; but something was wrong. She stopped short of him, and his heart seemed to stop, too.

      She was pale; her eyes had a dark look. An inward voice whispered to him that it was no more than to be expected; his happiness had been too swift, too bright to be real.

      He went toward her. "Colina!" he cried apprehensively.

      "Don't touch me!" she said sharply.

      He stopped. "What is the matter?" he faltered.

      She made no move to dismount. She did not look at him. "I—I have had a bad night," she murmured. "I came to throw myself on your generosity."

      "Generosity?" he echoed.

      "To—to ask you to forget what happened last night. I was mad!"

      Ambrose had become as pale as she. He had nothing to say.

      She stole a glance at his face. At the sight of his blank, sick dismay she quickly turned her head. A little color came back to her cheeks.

      There was a silence.

      At last he said huskily: "What has happened to change you?"

      "Nothing," she murmured. "I have come to my senses." His stony face and his silence terrified her. "Aren't you a little relieved?" she faltered. "It must have been a kind of madness in you, too."

      He raised a sudden, penetrating glance to her face. She could not meet it. It came to him that he was being put to a test. The revulsion of feeling made him brutal. Striding forward, he seized her horse by the rein.

      "Get off!" he harshly commanded.

      Colina had no thought but to obey.

      He tied the rein to a limb and, turning back, seized her roughly by the wrists.

      "What kind of a game is this?" he demanded.

      Colina, breathless, terrified, delighted, laughed shakily.

      He dropped her as suddenly as he had seized her, and walked away to the edge of the bank and sat down, staring sightlessly across the river and striving to still the tumult of his blood. He was frightened by his own passion. He had wished to hurt her.

      Colina went to him and humbly touched his arm.

      "I'm sorry," she whispered.

      He looked at her grimly.

      "You should not try such tricks," he said. "A man's endurance has its limits."

      There was something delicious to Colina in abasing herself before him.

       She caught up his hand and pressed it to her cheek.

      "How was I to know?" she murmured. "Other men are not like you."

      "I might have surprised you," he said grimly.

      "You did!" whispered Colina. The suspicion of a dimple showed in either cheek.

      He rose. "Let me alone for a minute," he said. "I'll be all right."

       He went to the horse and loosened the saddle girths.

      Colina could have crawled through the grass to his feet. She lay where he had left her until he came back. He sat down again, but not touching her. He was still pale, but he had got a grip on himself.

      "Tell me," he said quietly, "did you do it just for fun, or had you a reason?"

      "I had a reason."

      "What was it?" he asked in cold surprise.

      "I—I can't tell you while you are angry with me," she faltered.

      "I can't get over it right away," he said simply. "Give me time."

      Colina hid her face in her arm and her shoulders shook a little. It is doubtful if any real tears flowed, but the move was just as successful. He leaned over and laid a tender hand on her shoulder.

      "Ah, don't!" he said. "What need you care if I am angry. You know I love you. You know I—I am mad with loving you! Why—it would have been more merciful for you to shoot me down than come at me the way you did!"

      "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I never dreamed it would hurt so much! I had to do it—Ambrose!"

      It was the first time she had spoken his name. He paused for a moment to consider the wonder of it.

      "Why?" he asked dreamily.

      Colina sat up.

      "I worried all night about whether you would be sorry to-day," she said, averting her head from him. "I thought that nothing so swift could possibly be lasting.