Though a heavy-set man, he was an excellent waltzer. He moved evenly and powerfully. But in the girl's heart resentment flamed. She knew he was holding her too close to him, taking advantage of her modesty in a way she could not escape without public protest. "I'm faint," she told him after they had danced a few minutes. "Oh, you'll be all right," he said, still swinging her to the music. She stopped. "No, I've had enough." Jessie had caught sight of her brother Fergus at the other end of the room. She joined him. Tom Morse was standing by his side. Whaley nodded indifferently toward the men and smiled at Jessie, but that cold lip smile showed neither warmth nor friendliness. "We'll dance again--many times," he said. The girl's eyes flashed. "We'll have to ask Mrs. Whaley about that. I don't see her here to-night. I hope she's quite well." It was impossible to tell from the chill, expressionless face of the squaw-man whether her barb had stung or not. "She's where she belongs, at home in the kitchen. It's her business to be well. I reckon she is. I don't ask her." "You're not a demonstrative husband, then?" "Husband!" He shrugged his shoulders insolently. "Oh, well! What's in a name?" She knew the convenient code of his kind. They took to themselves Indian wives, with or without some form of marriage ceremony, and flung them aside when they grew tired of the tie or found it galling. There was another kind of squaw-man, the type represented by her father. He had joined his life to that of Matapi-Koma for better or worse until such time as death should separate them. In Jessie's bosom a generous indignation burned. There was a reason why just now Whaley should give his wife much care and affection. She turned her shoulder and began to talk with Fergus and Tom Morse, definitely excluding the gambler from the conversation. He was not one to be embarrassed by a snub. He held his ground, narrowed eyes watching her with the vigilant patience of the panther he sometimes made her think of. Presently he forced a reëntry. "What's this I hear about Bully West escaping from jail?" Fergus answered. "Two-three weeks ago. Killed a guard, they say. He was headin' west an' north last word they had of him." All of them were thinking the same thing, that the man would reach Faraway if he could, lie hidden till he had rustled an outfit, then strike out with a dog team deeper into the Lone Lands. "Here's wishin' him luck," his partner said coolly. "All the luck he deserves," amended Morse quietly. "You can't keep a good man down," Whaley boasted, looking straight at the other Indian trader. "I wouldn't wonder but what he'll pay a few debts when he gets here." Tom smiled and offered another suggestion. "If he gets here and has time. He'll have to hurry." His gaze shifted across the room to Beresford, alert, gay, indomitable, and as implacable as fate. CHAPTER XVI A BUSINESS DEAL