"I first saw Nat-u-ritch at a bear-dance at the agency. The Indians reverse our custom, and the women ask the men to dance. Nat-u-ritch chose me for her partner. We met again at Maverick, where she killed a desperado to save my life." These words Jim almost whispered to Petrie, who leaned forward to catch every syllable. "The next time I saw her—Oh, well, why tell of the months that followed? One day I found myself lying in her wickyup. I had been at death’s door fighting a fever. Searching for strayed cattle, I had tumbled into Jackson’s Hole and had been abandoned for dead. Nat-u-ritch went in alone, on snow-shoes, and dragged me back to her village. It was a deed no man, red or white, would have attempted to do. When I grew well enough she brought me here to my own ranch, where I had a relapse. Again she nursed me back to life." He paused. How should he tell this man of the days of blinding temptation the loneliness of his life had brought with it? Petrie waited. Jim moved a little closer to him as he went on: "When I grew stronger, I tried my best to induce her to leave the ranch, but she would not go. She loved me with a devotion not to be reasoned with. I almost tried to ill-treat her. It made no difference." Again the despair that Petrie had noticed before crept into Jim’s voice. "I was a man—a lonely man—and she loved me. The inevitable happened. You see, I cannot go back home." No, this was not the usual case, Malcolm Petrie told himself. Even he had been impressed by Jim’s recital of the story. It was this man’s attitude towards the woman that gave him more cause for anxiety than the squaw’s position in the case, so he said: "Don’t you think you take rather too serious a view of the case? You can explain the situation to her and she will be open to reason." But Jim interrupted him. "I wouldn’t desert a dog that had been faithful to me. That wouldn’t be English, would it? The man who tries to sneak out of the consequences of his own folly—" "Believe me," the lawyer protested, "I would advise nothing unbecoming a gentleman. But aren’t you idealizing Nat-u-ritch a little?" Jim’s answer was not reassuring. "On the contrary, we never do these primitive races justice. I know the grief of the ordinary woman. It doesn’t prevent her from looking into the mirror to see if her bonnet is on straight; but Nat-u-ritch would throw herself into the river out there, and I should be her murderer as much as if I pushed her in." Then Petrie devised a new scheme to test Jim’s resolution. "Why not take her with you to England?" he asked. "Impossible!" Jim answered. "We’d both be much happier here. Even here I am a squaw man—that means socially ostracized." A bitter laugh broke from him. "You see, we have social distinctions out here." "How absurd!"