“You have decided?” abruptly asked Chloe, in a voice of ill-concealed eagerness.  Lapierre’s face became at once grave, and he gazed sombrely into the fire.

“I have pondered deeply.  Through the long hours, while the scow rushed into the North, there came to me a vision of my people.  In the rocks, in the bush, and the ragged hills I saw it; and in the swirl of the mighty river.  And the vision was good!”

The voice of the man’s Indian grandmother spoke from his lips, and the soul of her glowed in his deep-set eyes.

“Even now Sakhalee Tyee speaks from the stars of the night sky.  My people shall learn the wisdom of the white man.  The power of the oppressor shall be broken, and the children of the far places shall come into their own.”

The man’s voice had dropped into the rhythmic intonation of the Indian orator, and his eyes were fixed upon the names that curled, lean and red, among the dry sticks of the camp-fire.  Chloe gazed in fascination into the rapt face of this man of many moods.  The soul of the girl caught the enthusiasm of his words, and she, too, saw the vision—­saw it as she had seen it upon the wave-lapped rock of the river-bank.

“You will help me?” she cried; “will join forces with me in a war against the ruthless exploitation of a people who should be as free and unfettered as the air they breathe?”

Lapierre bent his gaze upon her face slowly, like one emerging from a trance.

“Yes,” he answered deliberately; “it is of that I wish to speak.  Let us consider the obstacles in our path—­the matter of official interference.  The government will soon learn of your activities, and the government is prone to look askance at any tampering with the Indians by an institution not connected with the Church or the State.”

“I have my permit,” Chloe answered, “and many commendatory letters from Ottawa.  The men who rule were inclined to think I would accomplish nothing; but they were willing to let me try.”

“That, then, disposes of our most serious difficulty.  Will you tell me now where you intended to locate?”

“There is too much traffic upon the river,” answered the girl.  “The scow brigades pass and repass; and, at least until my little colony is fairly established, it must be located in some place uncontaminated by the presence of so rough, lawless, and drunken an element.  As I told you before, I do not know where my ideal site is to be found.  I had intended to talk the matter over with the factor at Fort Rae.”

“What!  That devil of a Haldane?  The man who is hand-in-glove with Brute MacNair!”

“You forget,” smiled the girl, “that until this day I never even heard of Brute MacNair.”

The man smiled.  “Very true.  I had forgotten.  But it is fortunate indeed that chance threw us together.  I tremble to think what would have been your fate should you have acted upon the advice of Colin Haldane.”