“Enterprise is sure a wonderful place!” said Peter encouragingly.

“There is something else,” said Poly proudly.  “At Fort Enterprise there is a white girl!”

The simple sentence had the effect of the ringing of an alarm going inside the dreamy Ambrose.  He drew a careful mask over his face, and leaned farther into the shadow.

“So!” said Peter with a glance in the direction of his young partner.  “That is news!  Who is she?”

“Colina Gaviller, the trader’s daughter,” said Poly.

“Is she real white?” asked Peter cautiously.

“White as raspberry flowers!” asseverated Poly with extravagant gestures; “white as clouds in the summer! white as sugar!  Her hair is lak golden-rod; her eyes blue lak the lake when the wind blows over it in the morning!”

Peter glanced again at his partner, but Ambrose was farthest from the window, and there was nothing to be read in his face.

“Sure,” said Peter; “but was her mother a white woman ?”

“They say so,” said Poly.  “Her long tam dead.”

“When did the girl come?” asked Peter.

“Las’ fall before the freeze-up,” said Poly.  “She come down the Spirit River from the Crossing on a raf’.  Michel Trudeau and his wife, they bring her.  Her fat’er he not know she comin’.  Her fat’er want her live outside and be a lady.  She say ‘no!’ She say ladies mak’ her sick.’  Michel tell me she say that.

“She want always to ride and paddle a canoe and hunt.  Michel say she is more brave as a man!  John Gaviller say she got go out again this summer.  She say ‘no!’ She is not afraid of him.  Me, I t’ink she lak to be the only white girl in the country, lak a queen.”

“How old is she?” inquired Peter.

“Twenty years, Michel say,” answered Poly.  “Ah! she is beautiful!” he went on.  “She walk the groun’ as sof’ and proud and pretty as fine yong horse!  She sit her horse like a flower on its stem.  Me and her good frens too.  She say she lak me for cause I am simple.  Often in the winter she ride out wit’ my team and hunt in the bush while I am load up.”

“What did Eelip say to that?” Peter inquired facetiously.  Eelip was Poly’s wife.

“Eelip?” queried Poly, surprised.  “Colina is the trader’s daughter,” he carefully explained.  “She live in the big house.  I would cut off my hand to serve her.”

“I suppose Miss Colina has plenty of suitors?” said Peter.

Ambrose hung with suspended breath on the reply.

Poly shook his curly pate.  “Who is there for her?” he demanded.  “Macfarlane the policeman is too fat; the doctor is too old, his hair is white; the parson is a little, scary man.  All are afraid of her; her proud eye mak’ a man feel weak inside.  There are no ot’er white men there.  She is a woman.  She mus’ have a master.  There is no man in the country strong enough for that!”

There was a brief silence in the cabin while Poly relighted his cigar.  Ambrose had given no sign of being affected by Poly’s tale beyond a slight quivering of the nostrils.  But Peter watching him slyly, saw him raise his lids for a moment and saw his dark eyes glowing like coals in a pit.  Peter chuckled inwardly, and said: