“Well, you’re back, eh?” he greeted Barreau. “I been wishin’ you’d show up. At the same time I’d just as soon you’d stay away. Now, don’t get huffy, George. You ain’t got any idee what I’ve had to contend with. Jessie’s here.” Barreau looked at him with unchanging expression. “Well,” he observed presently, “what of it?” “What of it?” Montell echoed. “Jehosophat! Ain’t you got no imagination, George? That MacLeod deal has turned her against you somethin’ terrible. She heard all that stuff about you, an’ wouldn’t rest till she made sure ’twas really you. She’d raise old Ned if——” “She found out that her highly respectable parent was associated in business with a notorious character like Slowfoot George,” Barreau cut in sneeringly. “You’re rather transparent, Montell. You don’t need to beat about the bush with me. I know what you are driving at. I’ve lost caste with her, which suits you exactly. You are her affectionate father, an honorable, clean-handed man. Hence you will not touch pitch lest she deem you defiled. Very good. But you had better take a hint from me and bestir yourself to get her south of the Peace before winter breaks. This is no place for a woman.” “Sure, sure,” Montell seemed no whit taken aback, “that’s what I been aimin’ to do. I don’t know what the mischief got into her to come up here, anyhow. She was supposed to turn back the next day after we left MacLeod—I told you that the night you come to our camp, but you was too blame busy abusin’ me to listen, I guess. Then she stood me off another day or two. By that time I couldn’t leave the outfit, and she wouldn’t go back unless I did. Darn it, Jessie’s gettin’ to be too many for me. She’s stubborn as a mule an’ got a temper like—like—well, when she gets on the fight I got to stand from under, that’s all. There’ll be war if she finds out you’re the big chief here. Say, George, can’t you play like you just happened in?” “No,” Barreau refused flatly. “I will not lie to her if both our necks depended on it. For that matter, the explanation is simple. Why not tell her the truth yourself?” Montell looked at him curiously. Of a sudden the set of his heavy, florid face seemed to become a trifle defiant, aggressive. “There’s no use standin’ here arguin’,” he said shortly. “Come on to the store. Let’s get an understandin’ of this thing.” He led the way. Within, as well as without, the rebuilt storehouse was transformed. A great clutter of goods in bales and sacks and small boxes filled it nearly to overflowing. Shelves lined the walls. On each side a rude counter ran the length of the building. Here and there a semblance of orderly arrangement was beginning to show. A fire crackled on the open hearth at one end. An upended box, littered with bills of merchandise and a ledger or two, stood against the wall. By this rude desk Montell sat him down on a stool. He turned a look of inquiry on me, but Barreau forestalled his question.