past her with the unerring feet of the blind who know their path; squatted on the floor like some furry animal; reached his knife from a tie in the wall and a dried stick from the floor, and began slicing slivers for firewood. He paused once to try the blade on his thumb, and Jennifer went away, shutting the door on the sharp, keen air. Day or dark were alike to Son-of-Lightning, and he was smoke-dried beyond all hurt from the smells.
Round the house the snow was pounded into holes and kicked to ridges by the passing of men and horses. Where the crisp surface spumed into spray about their bodies a big husky-dog was fighting two of Ducane's sled-dogs. They were bred too close to the wolf for Jennifer to care for or to heed the issue. Everything belonging to Ducane was savage and rough and unlovely as himself; everything except Jennifer. She watched them a moment with her dark brows drawn together. That husky dog was Robison's, and always his coming left Ducane inflamed with excitement or irritable with a hidden fear.
She went into the house, hearing Ducane call her from the passage.
"Jenny! Bring another cup—and some more bacon. Robison's here."
This was not the first time Ducane had bade her wait on the breed, and her temper began to stir. She gave two orders to Louisa, and met Ducane in the narrow side-passage hung with his guns and fishing-gear.
"Louisa will bring them," she said quietly. "You don't want to make me wait on Robison, do you?"
Ducane was irritable already.
"By George," he exploded. "I guess you'll leave your Toronto airs behind you up here, my girl. If Robison is good enough for me"
"He is good enough for me. Is that what you mean?"
Under her eyes Ducane fidgeted.
"What's the matter with him?" he said sulkily.
"Nothing, perhaps—in his proper place. But his place is not in my sitting-room, and you have brought him there more than once. Nor is it in the dining-room when I am there. You would not dare attempt to make him my equal if he had not a greater hold over you than he should have."
