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  CHAPTER XXXII

  A PICTURE IN A LOCKET

  It was characteristic of McRae that he had insisted on bringing Whaleyto his own home to recuperate. "It's nursin' you need, man, an' guidfood. Ye'll get baith at the hoose."

  The trader protested, and was overruled. His Cree wife was not justnow able to look after him. McRae's wife and daughter made good hispromise, and the wounded man thrived under their care.

  On an afternoon Whaley lay on the bed in his room smoking. Beside himsat Lemoine, also puffing at a pipe. The trapper had brought to theex-gambler a strange tale of a locket and a ring he had seen boughtby a half-breed from a Blackfoot squaw who claimed to have had iteighteen years. He had just finished telling of it when Jessie knockedat the door and came into the room with a bowl of caribou broth.

  Whaley pretended to resent this solicitude, but his objection was afraud. He liked this girl fussing over him. His attitude toward herwas wholly changed. Thinking of her as a white girl, he looked at herwith respect.

  "No more slops," he said. "Bring me a good caribou steak and I'll saythank you."

  "You're to eat what Mother sends," she told him.

  Lemoine had risen from the chair on which he had been sitting. Hestared at her, a queer look of puzzled astonishment in his eyes.Jessie became aware of his gaze and flashed on him a look ofannoyance.

  "Have you seen a ghost, Mr. Lemoine?" she asked.

  "By gar, maybeso, Miss Jessie. The picture in the locket, it jus' lakyou--same hair, same eyes, same smile."

  "What picture in what locket?"

  "The locket I see at Whoop-Up, the one Pierre Roubideaux buy from oldMakoye-kin's squaw."

  "A picture of a Blackfoot?"

  "No-o. Maybe French--maybe from the 'Merican country. I do not know."

  Whaley took the pipe from his mouth and sat up, the chill eyes in hiswhite face fixed and intent. "Go back to Whoop-Up, Lemoine. Buythat locket and that ring for me from Pierre Roubideaux. SeeMakoye-kin--and his squaw. Find out where she got it--and when. Rundown the whole story."

  The trapper took off a fur cap and scratched his curly poll."Mais--pourquois? All that will take money, is it not so?"

  "I'll let you have the money. Spend what you need, but account for itto me afterward."

  Jessie felt the irregular beat of a hammer inside her bosom. "What isit you think, Mr. Whaley?" she cried softly.

  "I don't know what I think. Probably nothing to it. But there's alocket. We know that. With a picture that looks like you, Lemoine herethinks. We'd better find out whose picture it is, hadn't we?"

  "Yes, but--Do you mean that maybe it has something to do with me? Howcan it? The sister of Stokimatis was my mother. Onistah is my cousin.Ask Stokimatis. She knows. What could this woman of the picture be tome?"

  Jessie could not understand the fluttering pulse in her throat. Shehad not doubted that her mother was a Blackfoot. All the romance ofher clouded birth centered around the unknown father who had died whenshe was a baby. Stokimatis had not been very clear about that. She hadnever met the man, according to the story she had told Sleeping Dawn.Neither she nor those of her tribal group knew anything of him. Wasthere a mystery about his life? In her childish dreams Jessie hadwoven one. He was to her everything desirable, for he was the tie thatbound her to all the higher standards of life she craved.

  "I don't know. Likely it's all a mare's nest. Find Stokimatis,Lemoine, and bring her back with you. Well see what she can tell us.And get the locket and the ring, with the story back of them."

  Again Lemoine referred to the cost. He would have to take hisdog-train to Whoop-Up, and from there out to the creek where PierreRoubideaux was living. Makoye-kin and his family might be winteringanywhere within a radius of a hundred miles. Was there any use ingoing out on such a wild-hare chase?

  Whaley thought there was and said so with finality. He did not givehis real reason, which was that he wanted to pay back to McRae and hisdaughter the debt he owed. They had undoubtedly saved his life afterhe had treated her outrageously. There was already one score to hiscredit, of course. He had saved her from West. But he felt the balancestill tipped heavily against him. And he was a man who paid his debts.

  It was this factor of his make-up--the obligation of old associationslaid upon him--that had taken him out to West with money, supplies,and a dog-train to help his escape.

  Jessie went out to find her father. Her eagerness to see him outflewher steps. This was not a subject she could discuss with Matapi-Koma.The Cree woman would not understand what a tremendous difference itmade if she could prove her blood was wholly of the superior race. Norcould Jessie with tact raise such a point. It involved not only thestanding of Matapi-Koma herself, but also of her sons.

  The girl found McRae in the storeroom looking over a bundle ofassorted pelts--marten, fox, mink, and beaver. The news tumbled fromher lips in excited exclamations.

  "Oh, Father, guess! Mr. Lemoine saw a picture--a Blackfoot woman hadit--old Makoye-kin's wife--and she sold it. And he says it was likeme--exactly. Maybe it was my aunt--or some one. My father's sister!Don't you think?"

  "I'll ken what I think better gin ye'll just quiet doon an' tell me a'aboot it, lass."

  She told him. The Scotchman took what she had to say with no outwardsign of excitement. None the less his blood moved faster. He wantedno change in the relations between them that would interfere with thelove she felt for him. To him it did not matter whether she was of thepure blood or of the metis. He had always ignored the Indian in her.She was a precious wildling of beauty and delight. By nature she wasof the ruling race. There was in her nothing servile or dependent,none of the inertia that was so marked a mental characteristic ofthe Blackfoot and the Cree. Her slender body was compact of fire andspirit. She was alive to her finger-tips.

  None the less he was glad on her account. Since it mattered to herthat she was a half-blood, he would rejoice, too, if she could provethe contrary. Or, if she could trace her own father's family, he wouldtry to be glad for her.

  With his rough forefinger he touched gently the tender curve of thegirl's cheek. "I'm thinkin' that gin ye find relatives across theline, auld Angus McRae will be losin' his dawtie."

  She flew into his arms, her warm, young face pressed against hisseamed cheek.

  "Never--never! You're my father--always that no matter what I find.You taught me to read and nursed me when I was sick. Always you'vecared for me and been good to me. I'll never have any real father butyou," she cried passionately.

  He stroked her dark, abundant hair fondly. "My lass, I've gi'en ye allthe love any yin could gi'e his ain bairn. I doot I've been hard on yeat times, but I'm a dour auld man an' fine ye ken my heart was woe forye when I was the strictest."

  She could count on the fingers of one hand the times when he had saidas much. Of nature he was a bit of Scotch granite externally. He wassentimental. Most of his race are. But he guarded the expression of itas though it were a vice.

  "Maybe Onistah has heard his mother say something about it," Jessiesuggested.

  "Like enough. There'll be nae harm in askin' the lad."

  But the Blackfoot had little to tell. He had been told by Stokimatisthat Sleeping Dawn was his cousin, but he had never quite believed it.Once, when he had pressed his mother with questions, she had smileddeeply and changed the subject. His feeling was, and had always been,that there was some mystery about the girl's birth. Stokimatis eitherknew what it was or had some hint of it.

  His testimony at least tended to support the wild hopes flaming in thegirl's heart.

  Lemoine started south for Whoop-Up at break of day.