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304 know, and the poor old beggar is as blind as a bat where that girl is concerned. It's a beastly underhand trick to play any man. I gave up calling Heriot Dick when I got to the bottom of that."

"Oh, Slicker! You don't know what you are talking about. You never do. They were such friends"

"That's the reason," said Slicker gloomily. "Tempest would never suspect. He's jealous of every other man, but he trusts Heriot. It's a bad business, honey, and Heriot's a bad lot. So's Andree. I can't see why fellows make such a fuss over the girl. Did I tell you I saw Robison when I came through Fort Saskatchewan? It was just a few days before he was hung. He'd been sick, you know, and that and the confinement had pulled him down. His voice was as hollow as a bottle after Ogilvie had done with it. But he didn't seem to worry any. 'How's Andree?' he asked, right away. 'Pretty as ever,' I said. 'She's shaken Tempest, and isn't wearing the willow over it either.' My! you should have seen how that brightened him up. Of course, I didn't tell him about Dick. He never loved Dick, anyway."

"I suppose not. Poke that log back, Slicker. It's smoking."

"I guess he just thinks of Andree, Andree all the time," said Slicker, obeying. "I wish somebody had drowned that girl when she was a kitten—I mean, as old as a kitten. She's done more harm than any one person has a right to, and she isn't through yet, I guess. There are stacks more fools left in the world. I suppose she is a beauty, though. Heriot has made some glorious pictures of her, Forbes says. He writes to me regularly. Rather a nice chap. You remember him, honey?"

Slicker continued his monologue, giving Jennifer time to recover her poise. It was not long since she had had a letter from Dick: one of those interesting, vivid sketches of daily life at Grey Wolf which he knew so well how to write. There had been no word of love in it. He had only gained permission to write on condition that there should be none. But neither had there been any word of Andree. After all, why should there be? What had it to do with Jennifer if Dick painted pictures of Andree, or if he