"No. She does not. Even with everything else against him, she cannot bring herself to believe that he is a thief." "Do _you_ think he took them?" "Why--I--I don't know," she hesitated. "Do you _think_ he took them?" The little woman looked into her husband's eyes as she purposely delayed her reply. "No," she said at length. "I do not. But his own father accused him." Appleton leaned forward in his chair and brought his fist down upon the desk-top. "I don't give a damn _who_ accused him!" he cried. "That boy never stole a bond, or any other thing, and I'll stake my last cent on it!" "Oh, it isn't the bonds. Ethel does not believe he stole them. But--the other--you heard what the guide said--and Ethel heard it. She never _can_ get over _that_! He may be honest--but he is a perfect _villain_!" "Hold on, now. Let's go easy. Maybe it isn't so bad as it sounds." "Not so bad! Hubert Appleton, do you mean to tell me that you would, for a minute, think of allowing your niece to _marry_ such a man?" Appleton smiled into the outraged eyes of his wife. "Yup. I think I would," he replied, and then hastened to add: "Wait here and I will fetch Blood River Jack. He may have told more than he knows, or he may not have told all he knows. When you come to think of it, from what he _did_ tell, we only jumped at conclusions." He hurried from the office, returning a few minutes later with the half-breed, who seated himself and lighted the proffered cigar with evident enjoyment. "Now, Jack," Appleton began, speaking with his accustomed brevity, "tell us about Monsieur Bill and this sister of yours. Did you say he was going to marry her?" The guide looked from one to the other as if silently taking their measure. Finally he seemed satisfied. "No," he said gravely, "he will not marry Jeanne." The lumberman cleared his throat and waited while the man looked out upon the whirling snow, for well he knew that the half-breed must be allowed to take his own time--he could not be "pumped." And Mrs. Appleton, taking her cue from her husband, curbed her impatience, and waited with apparent unconcern. "It is," the guide began, as if carefully weighing his words, "that you are the good friends of M's'u' Bill. Also I have seen that you know the men of the logs. "Wa-ha-ta-na-ta, my mother, who is old and very wise, knows the men of the logs, and, knowing them, hated M's'u' Bill, and would have returned him to the river, but Jeanne prevented. For Wa-ha-ta-na-ta, knowing of the fatherless breeds of the rivers, hated all white men, and a great fear was in her heart for the girl, who is her daughter, and the daughter of Lacombie whom, she says, was the one good white man; but Lacombie is dead.