He had not taken the trouble to find out what she thought, for the very obvious reason that he had not cared what she thought--and so he left her. And when he had gone the girl plodded wrathfully back to camp and spoke to no one of what she had seen. But, deep down in her heart, she knew there had been a reason for Bill's act--and she knew that the reason was good. That same evening Appleton pushed his chair back from the table and glanced toward Ethel, who had got out a bit of crochet-work. Then, with a sidewise glance at his wife, he remarked thoughtfully: "I'm afraid I'll have to get rid of Bill. A Canuck swamper named Leduc complained to me that the boss slipped up on him and knocked him insensible with a club. I can't stand for that--not even from Bill." At the mention of the foreman's name the girl looked up quickly. "He _didn't_ hit him with a club! He hit him with his fist! And there _was_ a reason----" The girl stopped abruptly, and a wave of crimson suffused her face. She could have bitten her tongue off for speaking--for defending this man. "How do _you_ know?" asked her uncle in surprise. "I saw him do it," she replied; realizing that, having gone so far, she must answer. "Why did he strike him?" persisted Appleton. "You might ask _him_ that," she said and, with a defiant toss of her head, quitted the room and closed the door behind her. The Sheridans had been taken into confidence, and when the four found themselves alone they smiled knowingly. As the days slipped into the second week of their stay, the carcasses of many deer hung from poles in the clearing, and the outside walls of the log building were adorned with the skins of numerous wolves and bobcats. Hardly a day passed but some one, by word or look, or covert sneer, expressed disapproval of the boss; and Ethel, entirely ignorant of the fact that these expressions of disapproval were made only in her presence, and for her special benefit, was conscious of a feeling of great pity for the lonely man. The indescribable restlessness of a great longing took possession of her; she found herself, time and again, watching from the window, and from places of concealment behind the trunks of trees, while the big foreman went stolidly about his work. The fact that she should hate Bill Carmody was logical and proper; but she bitterly resented the distrust and criticism of the others. She wished now with all her heart that she had not confided in her aunt, and a dozen times she caught herself on the point of rushing to his defense. Not since that morning on the skidway had the two met. Bill deviated not one whit from the regular routine of his duties, and the girl purposely avoided him.