“On Lake Miwasa—­three hundred miles down the river.”

“Three hundred miles!” exclaimed Colina.  “Have you come so far alone?”

“I have Job,” Ambrose said with a smile.

“How much farther are you going?” she asked.

“Only to Fort Enterprise.”

“Oh!” she said.  The question in the air was:  “What did you come for?”
Both felt it.

“Do you know my father?” Colina asked.

“No,” said Ambrose.

“I suppose you have business with him?”

“No,” he said again.

Colina glanced at him with a shade of annoyance.  “We don’t have many visitors in the summer,” she said carelessly.

“I suppose not,” said Ambrose simply.

Colina was a woman—­and an impulsive one; it was bound to come sooner or later:  “What did you come for?”

His eyes pounced on hers with the same look of mixed boldness and apprehension that she had marked before; she saw that he caught his breath before answering.

“To see you!” he said.

Colina saw it coming, and would have given worlds to have recalled the question.  She blushed all over—­a horrible, unequivocal, burning blush.  She hated herself for blushing—­and hated him for making her.

“Upon my word!” she stammered.  It was all she could get out.

He did not triumph over her discomfiture; his eyes were cast down, and his hand trembled.  Colina could not tell whether he were more bold or simple.  She had a sinking fear that here was a young man capable of setting all her maxims on men at naught.  She didn’t know what to do with him.

“What do you know about me?” she demanded.

It sounded feeble in her own ears.  She felt that whatever she might say he was marching steadily over her defenses.  Somehow, everything that he said made them more intimate.

“There was a fellow from here came by our place,” said Ambrose simply.  “Poly Goussard.  He told us about you—­”

“Talked about me!” cried Colina stormily.

“You should have heard what he said,” said Ambrose with his venturesome, diffident smile.  “He thinks you are the most beautiful woman in the world!” Ambrose’s eyes added that he agreed with Poly.

It was impossible for Colina to be angry at this, though she wished to be.  She maintained a haughty silence.

Ambrose faltered a little.

“I—­I haven’t talked to a white girl in a year,” he said.  “This is our slack season—­so I—­I came to see you.”

If Colina had been a man this was very like what she might have said—–­to meet with candor equal to her own in the other sex, however, took all the wind out of her sails.

“How dare you!” she murmured, conscious of sounding ridiculous.

Ambrose cast down his eyes.  “I have not said anything insulting,” he said doggedly.  “After what Poly said it was natural for me to want to come and see you.”