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Crouched in a berth, her long, overhanging curls swaying with that sea-rocked ship, lay Trottie Dring, her eyes hot and tearless, and her heart numb. Away into the great Pacific she went, never again to catch a glimpse of the Oregon coast. The surf-beaten rocks on the shore seemed not harder than the flinty heart that divided herself and her lover.

From that day the veneering of civilization fell ofif from David like an egg-shell. He lost all interest in the store. Indian impatience of restraint, Indian instincts and inherited tendencies triumphed over the Scotch in his veins. He roved continually. He gave himself up to dissipation, and was happy only with his red friends in the forest. He wedded the daughter of a chief.