He nodded and walked on. He wished Pete would get killed on the top of a log, but his face was inscrutable and calm as that of any full-blooded Siwash. Pete was as innocent and as unsuspicious as any child. If he feared anyone it was Spanish Joe, with his guitar and his songs. He went home as pleased as Punch by the condescension of the Boss, and found Jenny laying out dinner. The trouble came as quick as it could come. It came right there and then, when both were as happy as they could be. Jenny fairly shivered with pleasure to think of the silk she had hidden inside the inner room. Real silk it was and new, not a cast-off rag from Mrs. Alexander, of the Kamloops Hotel. The tulips of the dressing-gown faded clean out of sight: they died down in their monstrous array. She saw the Dress, saw it made up, saw the world admire it: heard the other klootchmen clicking envious admiration. But how was she to account for it to Pete? She had been kissed by Quin, and she knew he liked her, wanted her. The big man flattered her senses, he was a white man, rich and strong. She wouldn't have almost sworn on the Bible that she wouldn't lass him, now that this silk filled earth and heaven for her gaudy little mind. She would have to think how to tell Pete. So in came Pete in excitement. "Show me what Mr. Quin give you," he demanded. And her unlucky lie was ready. It fell from her lips before she had a moment to think. "He give me nothing; why you say that?" Pete's jaw fell and his eyes shut to a thin line. "You damned liar, kliminiwhit," he said. "I know." "It's not true, you dam' liar you'self," said Jenny. "What for you tink the Tyee give me tings? You tink me a cultus klootchman like Indian Annie?" On his oath he would have sworn one happy moment before that he had never thought so. Now he thought too much. "You show it me or I kill you," said Pete. "I know Mr. Quin he give you some stuff to make a dless." In his rage his words grew more Indian, and his taught English failed, his r's became l's. So did hers. "Damn lie, I have no dless," screamed Jenny. "You no give me no'ting, you make kokshut my dlessing-gown. I dless like one cultus klootchman, in lags." He ran at her and she fled round the table. The newspaper and the dinner went on the floor, and she screamed. Then she slipped on the steak, and went down. As chance had it the table came over on top of her and she held it tight, so that he could not get at her to hurt her much. But he kicked her legs hard and then went into the inner room. "No, Pete, no," she screamed. She knew that he must find the dress, the precious silk, and she forgot all else in her great desire that it should not be harmed. "I tell you the trut', Pete." She crawled from under the table: her hair was down to her waist, her wretched every-day gown torn from her back: her bosom showed. "Oh, Pete, oh, Pete!"