He instantly flared up again. "Ah! I thought you treated everybody the same!"

Bela shrugged, and, bringing coffee, sat down opposite him.

There was a silence. Joe, merely playing with the food on his plate, watched her with sullen, pained eyes, trying to solve the riddle of her. One could almost see the simple mental operations. Sam got along with her by jollying her. Very well, he would do the same.

"I ain't such a bad sort when I'm took right," he began, with a ghastly attempt to be facetious.

"No?"

"I like my joke as well as another."

"Yes?"

"You're a deep one!" he said with a leer, "but you can't fool me."

"Eat your breakfast," said Bela.

"This mysteriousness is a bluff!"

"Maybe."

Lacking encouragement, he couldn't keep this up long. He fell silent again, staring at her hungrily. Suddenly, with a sound between an oath and a groan, he swept the dishes aside. Bela sprang up warily, but he was too quick for her. Flinging an arm across, he seized her wrist.

"By George! I can't stand it any longer!" he cried. "What's behind that smooth face of yours? Ain't you got no heart making a man burn in h.e.l.l like me?"

"Let go my arm!" said Bela.

"You're mine!" he cried. "You've got to be! I've said it, and I stick to it. If any man tries to come between us I'll kill him!"

"Let go my arm!" she repeated.

"Not without a kiss!"

Instantly Bela was galvanized into action. Some men are foredoomed to choose the wrong moment. Joe was hopelessly handicapped by the table between them. He could not use his strength. As he sought to draw her toward him Bela, with her free hand, dealt him a stinging buffet on the ear.

They fell among the dishes. The coffee scalded him, and he momentarily relaxed his hold. Bela wriggled clear, unkissed. Joe capsized of his own weight, and, slipping off the end of the table, found himself on his back among broken dishes on the floor.

He picked himself up, scarcely improved in temper. Bela had disappeared. He sat down to wait for her, dogged, sheepish, a little inclined to weep out of self-pity.

Even now he would not admit the fact that she might like another man--a small, insignificant man--better than himself. Joe was the kind of man who will not take a refusal.

In a few minutes, getting no sign of her, he got up and looked into the tent kitchen. Old Mary Otter was there, alone, washing dishes with a perfectly bland face.

"Where's Bela?" he demanded, scowling.

"Her gone to company house for see Beattie's wife mak' jam puddin',"

answered Mary.

Joe strode out of the door scowling and drove away. His horses suffered for his anger.

CHAPTER XX

MALICIOUS ACTIVITY

Joe found the usual group of gossipers in the store of the French outfit. Beside the two traders, there were two of the latest arrivals from the outside, a policeman off duty, and young Mattison, of the surveying party, who had ridden in on a message from Graves, and was taking his time about starting back.

Up north it is unfashionable to be in a hurry. Of them all only Stiffy, in his little compartment at the back, was busy. He was totting up his beloved figures.

Joe found them talking about the night before, with references to Sam in no friendly strain. Joe had the wit to conceal from them a part of the rage that was consuming him, though it was not easy to do so. He sat down in the background, and for the most part kept his mouth shut.

Anything that anybody could say against Sam was meat and drink to him.

"Blest if I can see what the girl sees in him," said Mahooley. "There are better men for her to pick from."

"He's spoiled our fun, d.a.m.n him!" said another. "The place won't be the same again."

"Who is this fellow Sam?" asked one of the newcomers.

"A d.a.m.n ornery little cook who's got his head swole," muttered Joe.

"He kept his place till he got a team to drive," said Mattison.

"We kep' him in it, you mean."

"What for did you want to give him the job of teaming, Mahooley?"

asked Mattison.

"Matter of business," replied the trader carelessly. "He was on the spot."

"Well, you can get plenty more now. Why not fire him?"

Mahooley looked a little embarra.s.sed.

"Business is business," he said. "I don't fancy him myself, but he's working all right."

Joe's perceptions were sharpened by hate. He saw Mahooley's hesitation, and began speculating on what reason the trader could have for not wanting to discharge Sam. He scented a mystery. Casting back in his mind, he began to fit a number of little things together.

Once, he remembered, somebody had told Mahooley one of the black horses had gone lame, and Mahooley had replied unthinkingly that it was not his concern. Why had he said that? Was somebody besides Mahooley backing Sam? If he could explode the mystery, maybe it would give him a handle against his rival.

"Well, I shouldn't think you'd let an ex-cook put it all over you,"

remarked the stranger.

This was too much for Joe's self-control. A dull, bricky flush crept under his skin.

"Put it over nothing!" he growled. "You come over to Bela's to-night if you want to see how I handle a cook!"