He smiled at 'Tana to soften the severity of his speech; but she was not looking at him just then, and so missed the softening accompaniment. She felt it was herself who was taken to task instead of Lyster, and stood with drooped, darkening face until the door closed behind Overton. "That is your fault," she burst out. "He--he might have thought it was nice, if you hadn't been here with your fool speeches. You just go around laughing at everything, Mr. Max Lyster, and you're just as empty as that china cat on the mantel, and it's hollow. I'd like to hit you sometimes when you say your nice, tantalizing words--that's what _I'd_ like to do; and maybe some day I will." "I shouldn't be surprised if you did," he agreed, and stepped back out of range of her clenched brown hands. "Whew! what a trial you'd be to a guardian who had nerves. You are spoiling your pretty face with that satanic expression. Now, why should you make war on me? I'm sure I am one of your most devoted servants." "You are your own devoted servant," she retorted, "and you'll never be any other person's." "Well, now, I'm not so sure of that," he said, and looked at her smilingly. All her anger did not keep him from seeing what a wondrous difference all that white, billowy lawn made in the girl whom he had taken for a squaw that first day when he saw her swimming the Kootenai. She looked taller, slighter, with such lovable curves in the girlish form, and the creamy neck and arms gleaming through the thin material. No ornaments or ribbons broke the whiteness of her garb--nothing but the Indian belt of beads that Overton had given her, and in it were reddish tints and golden brown the color of her hair. To be sure, the cheeks were a little tanned by the weather, and the little hand was browner than need be for beauty; but, for all that, he realized, as Overton had seemingly not done, that the girl, when dressed as dainty girlhood should be, was very pretty, indeed. "I am willing to sign myself your bond slave from this hour, if that will lessen your anger against me," he protested. "Just think, I leave Sinna Ferry to-morrow. How shall I do penance until then?" "'It may be for years, and it may be forever, Then why art thou silent, O voice of my heart?'" She pouted and frowned a little at his warbling, though a smile eventually touched her lips, and speculation shone in her eyes. "I _will_ make you do penance," she declared, "and right now, too. I haven't any money, but I'll put up my moccasins against five dollars in a game of poker." "You--play poker?" "I'll try," she said briefly, and her eyes sparkled; "I'll play you and ask no favors." "Your moccasins are not worth five." "Maybe not. Call it two-fifty then and promise me two hands at that."