CHAPTER XIII.

The quarrel.

When Colina returned she said immediately:  “Ambrose, can you stay at
Fort Enterprise a little while longer?”

His heart leaped up.  “As long as I can help you!” he cried.

They looked at each other wistfully.  They wanted so much to be friends—­but the black shape was still there in the room.

“I’d be glad to have you stay here in the house,” said Colina.

Ambrose shook his head.  “I’d much better stay in camp.”

She acquiesced.  “There are three white men here,” she went on,
“Giddings, Macfarlane the policeman, and Mr. Pringle the missionary. 
Each is all right in his way, but—­”

“They’re all in love with you,” suggested Ambrose.

She smiled faintly.  “How did you know?”

Ambrose shrugged.  “Deduced it.”

“You see I cannot take any of them into my confidence.”

“Colina!” he said.  “If you would only let me—­”

“Ah, I want to!” she returned.  “If only, only you will not abuse him—­wounded and helpless as he is!”

Here was the black shape again.

“I suppose Gordon Strange will run the business,” said Ambrose.

“Naturally,” said Colina.  “He knows everything about it.”

“If you want my advice,” Ambrose said diffidently, “do not trust him too far.”

She looked at him in astonishment.  “Mr. Strange is almost like one of the family.  He’s been father’s right-hand man for years and years.  Father says he’s the best servant the company possesses.”

“That may be,” said Ambrose doggedly, “but a good servant makes a bad master.  After all, he is not one of us.  If you value my advice at all you will never let him know he is running things.”

“How can I help it?  I haven’t told him yet what has happened; but Dr. Giddings and I agreed that he must be told.  He never mixes with the natives.”

“Of course he must know your father was wounded, but he needn’t be told how seriously.  If I were you I would make him inform me of every detail of the business on the pretext of repeating it to your father.  And I would issue orders to him as if they came from your father’s bed.”

“How can I?” said Colina.  “I know nothing of the business.”

“I can help you,” said Ambrose—­“if you want me to.  I know it.”

“But, Ambrose,” she objected, “what reason have you to feel so strongly against Mr. Strange?”

“No reason,” he said; “only an instinct.  I believe he’s a crook.”

“Father relies on him absolutely.”

“Maybe his influence with your father was sometimes unfortunate.”

Colina’s eyebrows went up.  “Influence!  Father would hardly allow his judgment to be swayed by a breed.”

“You’re a woman,” said Ambrose earnestly.  “You should not despise these feelings that we have sometimes and cannot give a reason for.  I saw Strange on my way here.  I exchanged only half a dozen words with him, yet I am as sure as I can be that he was glad of the accident to your father and hopes to profit by it somehow.”