As they passed out the factory door, they brushed by Maren Le Moyne,
where she had drawn aside, still wistfully watching the comers from the
wilderness.
The young factor's eyes went to her face and for a moment held her
glance.
Instantly, with that deep look, the girl's hand shot forth and touched
his arm, a light touch with the deftness of strength held in abeyance,
and McElroy felt his flesh tingle beneath it.
"M'sieu," she said, "where do they come from, how far in the west?"
"Not far, Ma'amselle,--only from the Lower Saskatchewan. The
Assiniboines are our nearest tribe, living along the country from the
Hare Hills to the parting of the twin rivers above the Qui Appelle.
Hold they interest for you?"
"Nay," she said, shaking her black head, "not if they come not far,
other than that excited by their strangeness. I thank you."
She drew back, and McElroy, perforce, followed his way to the
encampment, but he thought not this time of the red flower.
Only within him was roused that same desire which had prompted De
Courtenay to snatch the bloom from the stockade wall,--a longing to
give her something, to offer homage to this tall young woman with the
wondrous face of beauty and wistful strength.
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