He was surprised to discover that most of its horror had somehow gone. He was immensely relieved. “What a baby I am!” he said, with a smile of complacent self-pity. “What an emotional, imaginative ass!” But even as he spoke he felt the shadows creeping again over the landscape of his soul. “Here! Enough of this!” he exclaimed, springing to his feet. “I’m going to face this thing like a man. I played the fool. I’ll do the right thing by the girl—and her baby.” Her baby? His mind was away on a new tack, like a ship caught by a sudden shift of wind. His baby? His son? Indian or white? Or half-breed? What! His son! Truly, he was in a devilish cleft. Well he knew, none better, for he had lived with and worked with him, that, of all the human beings roving the new country, the half-breed, in spite of many splendid exceptions which he had met, was the most to be pitied, the most despicable. Too often inheriting the weaknesses and vices of both races, he was the derelict of the borderland of civilisation. Settled down upon the land, as in the Red River Valley, he could climb to strength and honour among the white race. Roving the plains and the woods with the tribes, he frequently sank beneath their level, more easily accessible to the vices of the white man, unable and unwilling to attain to the splendid and unspoiled nobility of the red man in his native wilds. Indian or white man? Again he could hear that calm, passionless voice putting to him the alternative, clearly he visualised those steady, relentless eyes holding his with unwavering grip. The problem was his, not hers. Alone, she would,, she must find the only solution possible; his son would be Indian—no, not even Indian, but half-breed. He was conscious of a fearful shrinking from that alternative. He had a very clear picture of the little chap, with his straight back, his sturdy legs, his shy, dark, yet fearless eyes, the curl to his hair. Ho! He would give the boy a chance! With a mother like that he had a right to a chance. He would have him educated. Trader—trapper—rancher—there were many possibilities open to him of escape from the degradation of the roving half-breed, haunting the Indian wigwam, slinking round the saloons of the frontier village. He would give him a chance. He would keep a distant eye upon him. The little chap should have his full opportunity, for manhood, for Canadian citizenship. After all, it would be easy enough. The whole thing could be arranged to do justice to every one involved.