“It is mine,” she said calmly.  Porportuk released his grip, but he gritted his teeth and scowled darkly as she continued to scoop the gold into the river till none was left.

The crowd had eyes for naught but Akoon, and the rifle of Porportuk’s man lay across the hollow of his arm, the muzzle directed at Akoon a yard away, the man’s thumb on the hammer.  But Akoon did nothing.

“Make out the bill of sale,” Porportuk said grimly.

And Tommy made out the till of sale, wherein all right and title in the woman El-Soo was vested in the man Porportuk.  El-Soo signed the document, and Porportuk folded it and put it away in his pouch.  Suddenly his eyes flashed, and in sudden speech he addressed El-Soo.

“But it was not your father’s debt,” he said, “What I paid was the price for you.  Your sale is business of to-day and not of last year and the years before.  The ounces paid for you will buy at the post to-day seventeen dollars of flour, and not sixteen.  I have lost a dollar on each ounce.  I have lost six hundred and twenty-five dollars.”

El-Soo thought for a moment, and saw the error she had made.  She smiled, and then she laughed.

“You are right,” she laughed, “I made a mistake.  But it is too late.  You have paid, and the gold is gone.  You did not think quick.  It is your loss.  Your wit is slow these days, Porportuk.  You are getting old.”

He did not answer.  He glanced uneasily at Akoon, and was reassured.  His lips tightened, and a hint of cruelty came into his face.  “Come,” he said, “we will go to my house.”

“Do you remember the two things I told you in the spring?” El-Soo asked, making no movement to accompany him.

“My head would be full with the things women say, did I heed them,” he answered.

“I told you that you would be paid,” El-Soo went on carefully.  “And I told you that I would never be your wife.”

“But that was before the bill of sale.”  Porportuk crackled the paper between his fingers inside the pouch.  “I have bought you before all the world.  You belong to me.  You will not deny that you belong to me.”

“I belong to you,” El-Soo said steadily.

“I own you.”

“You own me.”

Porportuk’s voice rose slightly and triumphantly.  “As a dog, I own you.”

“As a dog you own me,” El-Soo continued calmly.  “But, Porportuk, you forget the thing I told you.  Had any other man bought me, I should have been that man’s wife.  I should have been a good wife to that man.  Such was my will.  But my will with you was that I should never be your wife.  Wherefore, I am your dog.”

Porportuk knew that he played with fire, and he resolved to play firmly.  “Then I speak to you, not as El-Soo, but as a dog,” he said; “and I tell you to come with me.”  He half reached to grip her arm, but with a gesture she held him back.

“Not so fast, Porportuk.  You buy a dog.  The dog runs away.  It is your loss.  I am your dog.  What if I run away?”