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"Coquette!" still made a clangor in Colina's brain that deafened her to everything else. "You are a savage!" she cried. "I'm sorry I asked you here. You needn't wait for my father to come back. Go!" "Not without a plain answer!" he said. Colina tried to laugh; she was too angry. "My answer is no!" she cried with outrageous scorn. "Now go!" He stood studying her from under lowering brows.
"When they all got to the Kakisa River a week later she found that he was imprisoned in Gordon Strange's house, and watched day and night." So far the power of Colina's story had carried her hearers along breathlessly with her. Not until she reached this point did a very obvious question occur to the judge. "One moment, Miss Gaviller," he said.
"Nothing serious," he said. "He is quite all right again." Ambrose was tormented by the desire to laugh. He dared not meet Colina's eye. "It is terrible to lose a valuable animal up here," he said demurely. After a few desultory polite exchanges Ambrose got up to go. "I was waiting to say good night to you," he explained. "You are camping down the river, I believe."
The plump, copper-skinned maiden was overjoyed by the opportunity to examine anything so wonderful as a white girl at close range. No part of Colina's person or attire escaped her scrutiny. Marya stroked her with a soft crooning. The fastidious Colina bore it, smiling. At the throat of her waist Colina was wearing a topaz-pin, to which the Indian girl's eyes ever returned, dazzled.
"I know he was a prisoner," she said. "Will you come with me and tell the police that?" Nesis turned and with a despairing gesture called Colina's attention to the gathering Indians who would prevent her. Not a sound issued from her lips. "Never mind them," said Colina scornfully. "Are you willing to come?"
But the sky was as blue as Colina's eyes, and the prairie, quilted with wild flowers, basked in the delicate radiance that only the northern sun can bestow. On a horse Colina could not be actively unhappy, nevertheless she was conscious of a certain dissatisfaction with life. Not as a result of the discussion with her father she felt she had come off rather well from that.
Under the jokes, the laughter, and the friendly talk throughout dinner, there were electric intimations that caused Colina's nostrils to quiver. She loved the smell of danger. It was no easy matter to keep the conversational bark on an even keel; the rocks were thick on every hand. Business, politics, and local affairs were all for obvious reasons tabooed.
Starting up and dropping the pipe in his pocket he flashed a look of extraordinary rapture on her that brought Colina's eyelids fluttering down like winged birds. He was a disconcerting young man. Resentment moved her, but she couldn't think of anything to say. They ate amicably, passing the utensils back and forth. After a while Colina asked: "Do you know who I am?" "Of course," he said.
The disclosure was too sudden and dreadful. For the first and last time during that hazardous enterprise her strong spirit failed. She became as pale as snow and her hands flew to her breast. Cora, watching her, slipped out of the saddle and glided to her aid. The weakness was momentary. Before Cora got to her the color came winging back into Colina's cheeks.
"They are suffering from hunger," he said firmly. "You will have to see Mr. Strange," she said coolly. "He is in charge of the business." "This is a question for the head to decide," warned Ambrose. "You will have to see Mr. Strange," she repeated, unmoved. Ambrose's eyes flamed up. For a moment the two pairs contended Ambrose's passionate, Colina's steely.
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