Then she relapsed into deep thought, and made the needles click with impatience all that afternoon. The captain came near the tent once, but retreated at the vision of the knitter. He talked with Mrs. Huzzard in the cabin of Harris, but did not visit her again in her own tent; and the poor woman began to wonder if the air of the Kootenai woods had an erratic influence on people. Dan was changed, 'Tana was changed, and now the captain seemed unlike himself from the very moment of his arrival. Even Lavina was a bit curt and indifferent, and Lorena Jane wondered where it would end. In the midst of her perplexity, 'Tana added to it by appearing before her in the Indian dress Overton had presented her with. Since her sickness it had hung unused in her cabin, and the two women had fashioned garments more suitable, they thought, to a young girl who could wear real laces now if she chose. But there she was again, dressed like any little squaw, and although rather pale to suit the outfit, she said she wanted a few more "Indian hours" before departing for the far-off Eastern city that was to her as a new world. She received Captain Leek with an unconcern that was discouraging to the pretty speeches he had prepared to utter. Dan returned and looked sharply at her as she sat whittling a stick of which she said she meant to make a cane--a staff for mountain climbing. "Where do you intend climbing?" he asked. She waved the stick toward the hill back of them, the first step of the mountain. "It is only a few hours since I picked you up down there, looking as if you were dead," he said, impatiently; "and you know you are not fit to tramp." "Well, I'm not dead yet, anyway," she answered, with a shrug of her shoulders; "and as I'm going to break away from this camp about to-morrow, I thought I'd like to see a bit of the woods first." "You--are going--to-morrow?" "I reckon so." "'Tana! And you have not said a word to me of it? That was not very friendly, little girl." She did not reply, but bent her head low over her work. After observing her for a while in silence, he arose and put on his hat. "Here is my knife," he remarked. "You had better use it, if you are determined to haggle at that stick. Your own knife is too dull for any use. You can leave it here in the cabin when you are done with it." She accepted it without a word, but flushed red when he had gone, and she found the eyes of Harris regarding her sadly. "'Not very friendly,'" she said, going over Overton's words--"you think that, too--don't you? You think I'm ugly, and saucy, and awful, I know! You look scoldings at me; but if you knew all, maybe you wouldn't--if you knew that my heart is just about breaking. I'm going out where there is no one to talk to, or I'll be crying next."