He laid a hand upon her arm.  “What’s your rush?  What are you dodgin’ for, girl?  I’m good as Susie to keep the goblins from gettin you.”

“Don’t touch me.”  Her eyes sparked fire.

“You’re mighty high-heeled for a nitchie.  I reckon you forget you’re Sleeping Dawn, daughter of a Blackfoot squaw.”

“I’m Jessie McRae, daughter of Angus, and if you insult me, you’ll have to settle with him.”

He gave a short snort of laughter.  “Wake up, girl.  What’s the use of foolin’ yourself?  You’re a breed.  McRae’s tried to forget it and so have you.  But all the time you know damn well you’re half Injun.”

Jessie looked at him with angry contempt, then wheeled for the door.

Whaley had anticipated that and was there before her.  His narrowed, covetous eyes held her while one hand behind his back slid the bolt into place.

“Let me out!” she cried.

“Be reasonable.  I’m not aimin’ to hurt you.”

“Stand aside and let me through.”

He managed another insinuating laugh.  “Have some sense.  Quit ridin’ that high horse and listen while I talk to you.”

But she was frightened by this time as much as she was incensed.  A drum of dread was beating in her panicky heart.  She saw in his eyes what she had never before seen on a face that looked into hers—­though she was to note it often in the dreadful days that followed—­the ruthless appetite of a wild beast crouching for its kill.”

“Let me go!  Let me go!” Her voice was shrilly out of control.  “Unbar the door, I tell you!”

“I’m a big man in this country.  Before I’m through.  I’ll be head chief among the trappers for hundreds of miles.  I’m offerin’ you the chance of a lifetime.  Throw in with me and you’ll ride in your coach at Winnipeg some day.”  Voice and words were soft and smooth, but back of them Jessie felt the panther couched for its spring.

She could only repeat her demand, in a cry that reached its ictus in a sob.

“If you’re dreamin’ about that red-coat spy—­hopin’ he’ll marry you after he’s played fast and loose with you—­why, forget such foolishness.  I know his kind.  When he’s had his fling, he’ll go back to his own people and settle down.  He’s lookin’ for a woman, not a wife.”

“That’s a lie!” she flung out, rage for the moment in ascendent.  “Open that door or I’ll—­”

Swiftly his hand shot forward and caught her wrist.  “What’ll you do?” he asked, and triumph rode in his eyes.

She screamed.  One of his hands clamped down over her mouth, the other went round her waist and drew the slim body to him.  She fought, straining from him, throwing back her head in another lifted shriek for help.

As well she might have matched her strength with a buffalo bull.  He was still under forty, heavy-set, bones packed with heavy muscles.  It seemed to her that all the power of her vital youth vanished and left only limp and flaccid weakness.  He snatched her close and kissed the dusky eyes, the soft cheeks, the colorful lips....