WHEN she was obliged to reply, she only repeated the fact of her meeting with Barney Loutrelle as she had related it over the telephone. Of course it did not satisfy her grandfather; and he stood in the snow studying her while, in answer to his demands, she told him further circumstances of her first words with the stranger.
"I heard him asking about St. Florentin," she said. "No one knew where it was. I told him."
"All right; all right; go on."
"So he got off at Quesnel; I did, too. Asa was there, and we borrowed his skis for Mr. Loutrelle and came to Wheedon's road together."
"All right; all right," her grandfather jerked again curtly. He kicked his feet out of his snowshoes and sat down on the side of the sled, hooking the shoes up with his toes and laying them on the sled floor. "Drive on, Sam."
The Indian, who had frankly turned about in his seat to glean information about the stranger who had gone to Wheedon's, delayed a minute more while he lit a fresh cigarette from the stub of the old one. His beady, black eyes, half closed by the fat of his cheeks as he drew at his cigarette, squinted at Lucas. Sam had become aware, quite as well as had Lucas, that Ethel was concealing interesting details; and he ob-
