Melisse sat down upon the sledge beside him without speaking, and nestled one of her hands a little timidly in one of his big, brown palms.

"Tell me about it, Jan."

"That was all--I ran."

"You wouldn't run as fast for me now, would you?"

He looked at her boldly, and saw that there was not half of the brilliant flush in her cheeks.

"I ran for you, just now--and you didn't like it," he replied.

"I don't mean that." She looked up at him, and her fingers tightened round his own. "Away back--years and years and years ago, Jan--you went out to fight the plague, and nearly died in it, for me. Would you do that much again?"

"I would do more, Melisse."

She looked at him doubtfully, her eyes searching him as if in quest of something in his face which she scarce believed in his words. Slowly he rose to his feet, lifting her with him; and when he had done this he took her face between his two hands and looked straight into her eyes.

"Some day I will do a great deal more for you than that, Melisse, and then--"

"What?" she questioned, as he hesitated.

"Then you will know whether I love you as much now as I did years and years and years ago," he finished, gently repeating her words.

There was something in his voice that held Melisse silent as he turned to straighten out the dogs; but when he came back, making her comfortable on the sledge, she whispered:

"I wish you would do it SOON, Brother Jan!"

CHAPTER XIX

THE NEW AGENT AND HIS SON

They did not lunch on the trail, but drove into the post in time for dinner. Jean de Gravois and Croisset came forth from the store to meet them.

"You have company, my dear!" cried Jean to Melisse. "Two gentlemen fresh from London on the last boat, and one of them younger and handsomer than your own Jan Th.o.r.eau. They are waiting for you in the cabin, where mon pere is getting them dinner, and telling them how beautifully you would have made the coffee if you were there."

"Two!" said Jan, as Melisse left them. "Who are they?"

"The new agent, M. Timothy Dixon, as red as the plague, and fatter than a sp.a.w.ning fish! And his son, who has come along for fun, he says; and I believe he will get what he's after if he remains here very long, Jan Th.o.r.eau, for he looked a little too boldly at my Iowaka when she came into the store just now!"

"Mon Dieu!" laughed Jan, as Gravois took in the four quarters of the earth with a terrible gesture. "Can you blame him, Jean? I tell you that I look at Iowaka whenever I get the chance!"

"Is she not worth it?" cried Jean in rapture. "You are welcome to every look that you can get, Jan Th.o.r.eau. But the foreigner--I will skin him alive and spit him with devil-thorn if he so much as peeps at her out of the wrong way of his eye!"

Croisset spoke.

"There was once a foreigner who came. You remember?"

"I remember," said Jan.

He looked to the white cross which marked Mukee's grave in the edge of the forest, where the shadow of the big spruce fell across it at the end of summer evenings.

"And--he--died," said Jean de Gravois, his dark hands clenched. "G.o.d forgive me, but I hate these red-necked men from across the sea."

Croisset shrugged his shoulders.

"Breeders of two-legged carrion-eaters!" he exclaimed fiercely. "La charogne! There are two at Nelson House, and two on the Wholdaia, and one--"

A sharp cry fell from Jan's lips. When Croisset whirled toward him, he stood among his dogs, as white as death, his black eyes blazing as if just beyond him he saw something which filled him with terror.

As the man turned, startled by the look, Jean sprang to his side.

"Saints preserve us, but that was an ugly twist of the hand!" he cried shrilly. "Next time, turn your sledge by the rib instead of the nose, when your dogs are still in the traces!" Under his breath he whispered, as he made pretense of looking at Jan's hand: "Le diable, do you want to tell HIM?" Jan tried to laugh as Croisset came to see what had happened.

"Will you care for the dogs, Henri?" asked Jean. "It's only a trifling sprain of the wrist, which Iowaka can cure with one dose of her liniment."

As they walked away, Jan's face still as pallid as the gray snow under their feet, Gravois added: "You're a fool, Jan Th.o.r.eau. There's a crowd at your cabin, and you'll have dinner with me."

"La charogne!" muttered Jan. "Les betes de charogne!"

Jean gripped him by the arm.

"I tell you that it means nothing--nothing!" he said, repeating his words of the previous day in the cabin. "You are a man. You must fight it down, and forget. No one knows but you and me."

"You will never tell what you read in the papers?" cried Jan quickly.

"You swear it?"

"By the blessed Virgin, I swear it!"

"Then," said Jan softly, "Melisse will never know!"

"Never," said Jean. His dark face flashed joyously as Iowaka's sweet voice came to them, singing a Cree lullaby in the little home. "Some day Melisse will be singing that same way over there; and it will be for you, Jan Th.o.r.eau, as my Iowaka is now singing for me!"

An hour later Jan went slowly across the open to c.u.mmins' cabin. As he paused for an instant at the door he heard a laugh that was strange to him, and when he opened it to enter he stood perplexed and undecided.

Melisse had risen from the table at the sound of his approach, and his eyes quickly pa.s.sed from her flushed face to the young man who was sitting opposite her. He caught a nervous tremble in her voice when she said:

"Mr. Dixon, this is my brother, Jan."

The stranger jumped to his feet and held out a hand.

"I'm glad to know you, c.u.mmins."

"Th.o.r.eau," corrected Jan quietly, as he took the extended hand. "Jan Th.o.r.eau."

"Oh, I beg your pardon. I thought--" He turned inquiringly to Melisse.