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In the middle of the evening a breed came to the door, hat in hand, to say that John Gaviller's Hereford bull was lying down in his stall and groaning. The trader bit his lip and glanced at Colina. "Would you like to come and see my beasts?" he asked affably. "Thanks," said Ambrose just as politely. "I'm no hand with cattle." He kept his eyes discreetly down.
He was wondering how far Strange might be admitted to Gaviller's confidence. That he was being drawn out, Ambrose had no doubt at all, but he did not know just to what end. Strange launched into extensive praises of John Gaviller. "I ought to know," he said in conclusion. "I've worked for him twenty-nine years. He taught me all I know. He's been a second father to me."
"On what took place in John Gaviller's house that night I will touch very briefly. It was a ghastly night for the little company of defenders! We have no eye-witness to the prisoner's dastardly attack on Mr. Gaviller. Mr. Strange, through the most praiseworthy motives, has refused to testify against him. "Mr.
Gaviller's vitality was so low that night, the doctor has testified, that he himself would not have suspected foul play if he had found him dead in the morning. "When they arrested Doane in the house the gun they took from him was one that had been stolen from the Company store earlier in the night. Remember that.
The subject of Indian children proved to be innocuous. They took coffee in John Gaviller's library. "Colina brought these new-fangled notions in with her," said her father. "They're all right!" said Ambrose soberly. Colina saw the hand that held his spoon tremble slightly, and wondered why.
"All say it was from him that they first heard Gaviller's name. I don't think we need look any further. "Anyhow, the prisoner led the mob down to the beach where his york-boat was lying, and they all embarked in his boat. He says he tried to keep them out, but he does not deny crossing with them. Hardly likely they would take him as a passenger, is it, if he had fought them so strenuously?
She was already dressed and engaged in arranging the table. John Gaviller's eyes gleamed approvingly at the sight of her in her finery. Black silk became Colina's blond beauty admirably. Manlike, he arrogated the extra preparations to himself. He thought it was a kind of peace offering from Colina. "Well!" he began jocularly, only to check himself at the sight of three places set at the table.
"Where you get the flour?" asked Watusk politely. "I borrowed Gaviller's mill to grind it," Ambrose answered in kind. Watusk's eyes narrowed. He puffed out his cheeks a little, and Ambrose saw that an oration was impending. "I hope there will be no trouble," the Indian began self-importantly. "Always when there is trouble the red man get blame.
The sudden appearance of Colina's white face affected them something in the way of a miracle. Every man dropped what he was about and stared with hanging jaw. Others came running out of the teepees and stopped dead at the door. For a moment or two there was no movement whatever in the square. But they knew Gaviller's daughter by repute, of course, and the word was passed around that it was she.
Ambrose saw the typical hanger-on of a trading-post, a white man of Gaviller's age, careless in dress, with a humorous, intelligent face, showing the ravages of a weak will. At present, with the sole responsibility of an important case on his shoulders, he looked something like the man he was meant to be. It was no time for commonplaces. "John is conscious," he said directly.
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