One glance of troubled curiosity she flashed at Morse. What sort of man was this quiet, brown-faced American who smuggled whiskey in to ruin the tribes, who could ruthlessly hold a girl to a bargain that included horsewhipping for her, who for some reason of his own fought beside the man taking him to imprisonment, and who had flung defiance at the terrible Bully West on her behalf? She hated him. She always would. But with her dislike of him ran another feeling now, born of the knowledge of new angles in him. He was hard as nails, but he would do to ride the river with. CHAPTER X A CAMP-FIRE TALE Another surprise was waiting for Jessie. As soon as Onistah came into the circle of light, he walked straight to the whiskey-smuggler. "You save my life from Crees. Thanks," he said in English. Onistah offered his hand. The white man took it. He was embarrassed. "Oh, well, I kinda took a hand." The Indian was not through. "Onistah never forget. He pay some day." Tom waved this aside. "How's the leg? Seems to be all right now." Swiftly Jessie turned to the Indian and asked him a question in the native tongue. He answered. They exchanged another sentence or two. The girl spoke to Morse. "Onistah is my brother. I too thank you," she said stiffly. "Your brother! He's not Angus McRae's son, is he?" "No. And I'm not his daughter--really. I'll tell you about that," she said with a touch of the defensive defiance that always came into her manner when the subject of her birth was referred to. She did, later, over the camp-fire. It is fortunate that desire and opportunity do not always march together. The constable and Morse had both been dead men if Bully West could have killed with a wish. Sleeping Dawn would have been on the road to an existence worse than death. Instead, they sat in front of the coals of buffalo chips while the big smuggler and his companions rode away from an ignominious field of battle. When the constable and his prisoner had first struck camp, there had been two of them. Now there were six. For in addition to Jessie McRae, the Blackfoot, and Barney, another had come out of the night and hailed them with a "Hello, the camp!" This last self-invited guest was Brad Stearns, who had not ridden to Whoop-Up as he had announced, but had watched events from a distance on the chance that he might be of help to Tom Morse. Jessie agreed with Beresford that she must stay in camp till morning. There was nothing else for her to do. She could not very well ride the night out with Onistah on the road back to the fort. But she stayed with great reluctance. Her modesty was in arms. Never before had she, a girl alone, been forced to make camp with five men as companions, all but one of them almost strangers to her. The experience was one that shocked her sense of fitness.