Overton sat silent and thoughtful for a little while after Mrs. Huzzard’s words. Then he glanced up and smiled at her.

“I’ve just been getting an idea of the direction your fancies are taking,” he said mockingly, “and they’re very pretty, but I reckon you’ll change them to oblige me; what I’m doing for her is what I’d do for any other child left alone. But as this child doesn’t happen to be a boy, I can’t take it on the trail, and a ranger like me is not fit to look after her, anyway. I think I told you before, I’m not a marrying man, and she, of course, would not look at me if I was; so what does it matter about her thinking of me? Of course, she won’t—it ain’t my intention. Even if she leaves these diggings some day and forgets all about me, just as the young wolves or wildcats do—well, what difference? I’ve helped old bums all over the country, and never heard or wanted to hear of them again, and I’m sure it’s more worth one’s while to help a young girl. Now, you’re a nice little woman, Mrs. Huzzard, and I like you. But if you and I are to keep on being good friends, don’t you speak like that about the child and me. It’s very foolish. If she should hear it, she’d leave us some fine night, and we’d never learn her address.” 84

Then he put on his hat, nodded to her, and walked out of the door as though averse to any further discussion of the subject.

“Bums all over the country!” repeated Mrs. Huzzard, looking after him darkly. “Well, Mr. Dan Overton, it’s well for you that ward of yours, as you call her, wasn’t near enough to hear that speech. And you’re not a marrying man, are you? Well, well, I guess there’s many a man and woman, too, goes through life and don’t know what they might be, just because they never meet with the right person who could help them to learn, and you’re just of that sort. Not a marrying man! Humph! When there’s not a better favored one along this valley—that there ain’t.”

She fidgeted about the dinner preparations, filled with a puzzled impatience as to why Dan Overton should thus decidedly state that he was not one of the men to marry, though all the rest of the world might fall into the popular habit if they chose.

“It’s the natural ambition of creation,” she declared in confidence to the dried peach-pie she was slipping from the oven. “Of course, being as I’m a widow myself, I can’t just make that statement to men folks promiscuous like. But it’s true, and every man ought to know it’s true, and why Dan Overton—”

She paused in the midst of her soliloquy, and dropped into the nearest chair, while a light of comprehension illuminated her broad face.

“To think it never came in my mind before,” she ejaculated. “That’s it! Poor boy! he’s had a girl somewhere and she’s died, I suppose, or married some other fellow; and that’s why he’s a bachelor at nearly thirty, I guess,” she added, thoughtfully. “She must have died, 85 and that’s why he never looks as gay or goes on larks with the other boys. He just goes on a lone trail mostly, Dan does. Even his own stepfather don’t seem to have much knowledge about him. Well, well! I always did feel that he had some sort of trouble lookin’ out of them dark eyes of his, and his words to-day makes it plain to me all at once. Well, well!”

The pensive expression of her face, as it rested on her fat hand, was evidence that Lorena Jane Huzzard had, after all, found a romance in real life suited to her fancy, and the unconscious hero was Dan Overton. Poor Dan!

The grieving hero to whom her thoughts went out was at that moment walking in a most prosaic, lazy fashion down the main thoroughfare of the settlement. The road led down to the Ferry from seemingly nowhere in particular, for from the Ferry on both sides of the river the road dwindled into mere trails that slipped away into the wildernesses—trails traveled by few of the white race until a few short years ago, and then only by the most daring of hunters, or the most persevering of the gold-seekers.

In the paths where gold is found the dwellings of man soon follow, and the quickly erected shanties and more pretentious buildings of Sinna Ferry had grown there as evidence that the precious metals in that region were no longer visionary things of the enthusiasts, but veritable facts. The men who came to it along the water, or over the inland trails, were all in some way connected with the opening up of the new mining fields.

Overton himself had drifted up there as an independent prospector, two years before. Then, when works were got under way all along that river and lake region, 86 when a reliable man was needed by the transfer company to get specie to their men for pay-days, it was Overton to whom was given the responsibility.

Various responsible duties he had little by little shouldered, until, as Lyster said, he seemed a necessity to a large area, yet he had not quite abandoned the dreams with which he had entered those cool Northern lands. Some day, when the country was more settled and transportation easier, it was his intention to slip again up into the mountains, along some little streams he knew, and work out there in quietness his theories as to where the gold was to be found.

Meantime, he was contented enough with his lot. No vaulting ambition touched him. He was merely a ranger of the Kootenai country, and was as welcome in the scattered lodges of the Indians as he was in the camps of the miners. He even wore clothes of Indian make, perhaps for the novelty of them, or perhaps because the buckskin was better suited than cloth to the wild trails over which he rode. And if, at times, he drifted into talk of existence beyond the frontier, and gave one an idea that he had drunk of worldly life deep enough to be tired of it, those times were rare; even Lyster had but once known him to make reference to it—that one evening after their ride along the falls of the Kootenai.

But however tired he might at some time have grown of the life of cities, he was not at all too blasÉ to accommodate himself to Sinna Ferry. If poor Mrs. Huzzard had seen the very hearty drink of whisky with which he refreshed himself after his talk with her, she would not have been so apt to think of him with such pensive sympathy. 87

The largest and most popular saloon was next door to the postoffice, the care of which Dan had secured for his stepfather, as the duties of it were just about as arduous as any that gentleman would deign to accept. The mail came every two weeks, and its magnitude was of the fourth-class order. No one else wanted it, for a man would have to possess some other means of livelihood before he could undertake it, but the captain accepted it with the attitude of a veteran who was a martyr to his country. As to the other means of livelihood, that did not cause him much troubled thought, since he had chanced to fall in Dan’s way just as Dan was starting up to the Kootenai country, and Dan had been the “other means” ever since.

The captain watched Overton gulp down the “fire-water,” while he himself sipped his with the appreciation of a gentleman of leisure.

“You didn’t use to drink so early in the day,” the captain remarked, with a certain watchful malice in his face. “Are your cares as a guardian wearing on your nerves, and bringing a need of stimulants?”

Overton wheeled about as though to fling the whisky-glass across at the speaker; but the gallant captain, perceiving that he had overreached his stepson’s patience, promptly dodged around the end of the bar, squatting close to the floor. Overton, leaning over to look at him, only laughed contemptuously, and set the glass down again.

“You’re not worth the price of the glass,” he decided, amused in spite of himself at the fear in the pale-blue eyes. Even the flowing side-whiskers betrayed a sort of alarm in their bristling alertness. “And if it wasn’t 88 that one good woman fancied you were true metal instead of slag, I’d—”

He did not complete the sentence, leaving the captain in doubt as to his half-expressed threat.

“Get up there!” Dan suddenly exclaimed. “Now, you think you will annoy me about that guardianship until I’ll give it up, don’t you?” he said, more quietly, as the captain once more stood erect, but in a wavering, uncertain way. “Well, you’re mightily mistaken, and you might as well end your childish interference right here. The girl is as much entitled to my consideration as you are—more! So if any one is dropped out of the family circle, it will not be her. Do you understand? And if I hear another word of your insinuations about her amusements, I’ll break your neck! Two, Jim.”

This last was to the barkeeper, and had reference to a half-dollar he tossed on the counter as payment for his own drink and that of the captain; and again he stalked into the street with his temper even more rumpled than when he left Mrs. Huzzard’s.

Assuredly it was not a good morning for Mr. Overton’s peace of mind.

Down along the river he came in sight of the cause of his discontent, the most innocent-looking cause in the world. She was teaching Lyster to paddle the canoe with but one paddle, as the Indians do, and was laughing derisively at his ineffectual attempts to navigate in a straight line.

“You—promised—Mrs. Huzzard—you’d—take—care—of—me,” she said, slowly and emphatically, “and a pretty way you’re doing it. Suppose I depended on you getting me in to shore for my dinner, how many hours do you think I’d have to go without eating? Just about 89 sixteen. Give me that paddle, and don’t upset the canoe when you move.”

These commands Mr. Lyster obeyed with alacrity.

“What a clever little girl you are!” he said, admiringly, as she sent the canoe skimming straight as a swallow for the shore. “Now, Overton would appreciate your skill at this sort of work”—and then he laughed a little—“much more than he would your modeling in clay.”

A dark flush crept over her face, and her lips straightened.

“Why shouldn’t he look down on that sort of pottering around?” she demanded. “He isn’t the sort of man who has time to waste on trifles.”

“Why that emphasis on the he?” asked her tormentor. “Do you mean to insinuate that I do waste time on trifles? Well, well! is that the way I get snubbed, because I grow enthusiastic over your artistic modeling and your most charming voice, Miss ’Tana?”

She flashed one sulky, suspicious look at him, and paddled on in silence.

“What a stormy shadow lurks somewhere back of your eyes,” he continued, lazily. “One moment you are all sugar and cream to a fellow, and the next you are an incipient tornado. I think you might distribute your frowns a little among the people you know, and not give them all to me. Now, there’s Overton—”

“Don’t you talk about him,” she commanded, sharply. “You do a lot of making fun about folks, but don’t you go on making fun of him, if that’s what you’re trying to do. If it’s me—pooh!” and she looked at him, saucily. “I don’t care much what you think about me; but Dan—”

“Oh! Dan, then, happens to-day to be one of the saints in your calendar, and plain mortals like myself must 90 not take his name in vain—is that it? What a change from this time yesterday!—for I don’t think you sent him to the hills in a very angelic mood. And you!—well, I found you with a clay Indian crumbled to pieces in your destroying hands; so I don’t imagine Dan’s talk to you left a very peaceful impression.”

He laughed at her teasingly, expecting to see her show temper again, but she did not. She only bent her head a little lower, and when she lifted it, she looked at him with a certain daring.

“He was right, and I was silly, I guess. He was good—so good, and I’m mostly bad. I was bad to him, anyway, but I ain’t too much of a baby to say so. And if he’s mad at me when he comes back, I’ll just pack my traps and take another trail.”

“Back to Akkomi?” he asked, gaily. “Now, you know we would not hear to that.”

“It ain’t your affair, only Dan’s.”

“Oh, excuse me for living on the same earth with you and Dan! It is not my fault, you know. I suppose now, if you did desert us, it would be to act as a sort of guardian angel to the tribes along the river, turn into a whole life-saving service yourself, and pick up the superfluous reds who tumble into the rivers. I wondered for a whole day why you made so strong a swim for so unimportant an article.”

“His mother thought he was important,” she answered. “But I didn’t know he had a mother just then; all I thought as I started for him was that he was so plucky. He tried his little best to save himself, and he never said one word; that was what I liked about him. It would have been a pity to let that sort of a boy be lost.” 91

“You think a heap of that—of personal bravery—don’t you? I notice you gauge every one by that.”

“Maybe I do. I know I hate a coward,” she said, indifferently.

Then, as the canoe ran in to the shore, she for the first time saw Overton, who was standing there waiting for them. She looked at him with startled alertness as his eyes met hers. He looked like a statue—a frontier sentinel standing tall and muscular with folded arms and gazing with curious intentness from one to the other of the canoeists.

In the bottom of the boat a string of fish lay, fine speckled fellows, to delight the palate of an epicure. She stooped and picking up the fish, walked across the sands to him.

“Look, Dan!” she said, with unwonted humility. “They’re the best I could find, and—and I’m sorry enough for being ugly yesterday. I’ll try not to be any more. I’ll do anything you want—yes, I will!” she added, snappishly, as he smiled dubiously, she thought unbelievingly. “I’d—dress like a boy, and go on the trails with you, paddle your canoe, or feed your horse—I would, if you like.”

Lyster, who was following, heard her words, and glanced at Overton with curious meaning. Overton met the look with something like a threat in his own eyes—a sort of “laugh if you dare!”

“But I don’t like,” Dan said, briefly, to poor ’Tana, who had made such a great effort to atone for ugly words spoken to him the day before.

She said no more; and Lyster, walking beside her, pulled one of her unruly curls teasingly, to make her look at him. 92

“Didn’t I tell you it was better to give your smiles to me instead of to Overton?” he asked, in a bantering way, as he took the string of fish. “I care a great deal more about your good opinion than he does.”

“Oh—you—” she began, and shrugged her shoulders for a silent finish to her thought, as though words were useless.

“Oh, me! Of course, me. Now, if you had offered to paddle a canoe for me, I’d—”

“You’d loll in the bottom of the boat and let me,” she flashed out. “Of course you would; you’re made just that way.”

“Sh—h, ’Tana,” said Overton, while to himself he smiled in an indulgent way, and thought: “That is like youth; they only quarrel when there is a listener.” Then turning to the girl, he said aloud:

“You know, ’Tana, I want you to learn other things besides paddling a canoe. Such things are all right for a boy; but—”

“I know,” she agreed; but there was a resentful tone in her voice. “And I guess I’ll never trouble you to do squaw’s work for you again.”

She looked squaw-like, but for her brown, curly hair, for she still wore the dress Overton had presented to her at the Kootenai village; and very becoming it was with its fancy fringes and dots of yellow, green, and black beads. Only the hat was a civilized affair—the work of Mrs. Huzzard, and was a wide, pretty “flat” of brown straw, while from its crown some bunches of yellow rosebuds nodded—the very last “artificial” blossoms left of Sinna Ferry’s first millinery store. The young face looked very piquant above the beaded collar; not so pinched or worn a face as when the men had first seen her. The one 93 week of sheltered content had given her cheeks a fullness and color remarkable. She was prettier than either man had imagined she would be. But it was not a joyous, girlish face even yet. There was too much of something like suspicion in it, a certain watchful attention given to the people with whom she came in contact; and this did not seem to abate in the least. Overton had noticed it, and decided that first night that she must have been treated badly by people to have distrust come so readily to her. He noticed, also, that any honest show of kindness soon won her over; and that to Lyster, with his graceful little attentions and his amused interest, she turned from the first hour of their acquaintance as to some chum who was in the very inner circle of those to whom her favor was extended. Overton, hearing their wordy wars and noting their many remarks of friendship, felt old, as though their light enjoyment of little things made him realize the weight of his own years, for he could no longer laugh with them.

Looking down now at the clouded young face under the hat, he felt remorsefully like a “kill-joy;” for she had been cheery enough until she caught sight of him.

“And you will never do squaw work for me again, little squaw?” Dan questioned, banteringly. “Not even if I asked you?”

“You never will ask me,” she answered, promptly.

“Well, then, not even if I should get sick and need a nurse?”

“You!” and she surveyed him from head to foot with pronounced unbelief. “You’ll never be sick. You’re strong as a mountain lion, or an old king buffalo.”

“Maybe,” he agreed, and smiled slightly at the dubious 94 compliment. “But you know even the old king buffaloes die sometime.”

“Die? Oh, yes, in a fight, or something of that sort; but they don’t need much medicine!”

“And even if you did,” said Lyster, addressing Overton, “I’m going to give you fair warning you can’t depend on ’Tana, unless you mend your ways. She threatened to-day to leave us, if you allow the shadow of your anger to fall on her again. So take heed, or she will swim back to Akkomi.”

Overton looked at her sharply, and saw that back of Lyster’s badinage there was something of truth.

“You did?” he asked, reproachfully. “I did not know I had been so bad a friend to you as that.”

But no answer was made to him. She was ashamed, and she looked it. She was also angry at Lyster, and he was made aware of it by a withering glance.

“Now I’m in her bad books,” he complained; “but it was only my fear of losing her that urged me to give you warning. I hope she does not take revenge by refusing me all the dances I am looking forward to to-night. I’d like to get you, as her guardian, on my side, Overton.”

The girl looked up, expectantly, and rested her slim fingers on the arms of the two men.

“I could not be of much use, unless I had an invitation myself to the dance,” Dan remarked, dryly; “mine has evidently been delayed in the mail.”

“You don’t like it?” said the girl, detecting the fact in his slight change of tone. “You don’t want me to go to dances?”

“What an idea!” exclaimed Lyster. “Of course, he is not going to spoil our good time by objecting—are you, Dan? I never thought of that. You see, you were away; 95 but, of course, I fancied you would like it, too. I’ll write you out a flourishing request for your presence, if that’s all.”

“It isn’t necessary; I’ll be there, I reckon. But why should you think I mean to keep you from jollifications?” he asked, looking kindly at ’Tana. “Don’t get the idea in your head that I’m a sort of ‘Bad Man from Roaring River,’ who eats a man or so for breakfast every day, and all the little girls he comes across. No, indeed! I’ll whistle for you to dance any time; so get on your war-paint and feathers when it pleases you.”

The prospect seemed to please her, for she walked closer to him and looked up at him with more content.

“Anyway, you ain’t like Captain Leek,” she decided. “He’s the worst old baby! Why, he just said all sorts of things about dances. Guess he must be a heavy swell where he comes from, and where all the fandangoes are got up in gilt-edged style. I’d like to spoil the gilt for him a little. I will, too, if he preaches any more of his la-de-da society rules to me. I’ll show him I’m a different boy from Mrs. Huzzard.”

“Now, what would you do?” asked Lyster. “He wouldn’t trust himself in a boat with you, so you can’t drown him.”

“Don’t want to. Huh! I wouldn’t want to be lynched for him. All I’d like to hit hard would be his good opinion of himself. I could, too, if Dan wouldn’t object.”

“If you can, you’re a wonder,” remarked Dan. “And I’ll give you license to do what I confess I can’t. But I think you might take us into your confidence.”

This she would not do, and escaped all their questions, by taking refuge in Mrs. Huzzard’s best room, and much of her afternoon was spent there under that lady’s 96 surveillance, fashioning a party gown with which to astonish the natives. For Mrs. Huzzard would not consent to her appearing in the savageness of an Indian dress, when the occasion was one of importance—namely, the first dance in the settlement held in the house of a respectable woman.

And as ’Tana stitched, and gathered, and fashioned the dress, according to Mrs. Huzzard’s orders, she fashioned at the same time a little plan of her own in which the personality of Captain Leek was to figure.

If Mrs. Huzzard fancied that her silent smiles were in anticipation of the dancing festivities, she was much mistaken.