Joan of Arc of the North Woods | Page 7

nature. Then she narrowed the field of inquiry.
"You say the Tomah waters are parallel with the Noda basin! Do you know many folks over in the Noda region?"
"Very few. I have kept pretty closely on my own side of the watershed."
"Isn't there a village in the Noda called Adonia?"
"Oh yes! It's the jumping-off place--the end of a narrow-gauge railroad."
"You have been in Adonia?"
"A few times."
"I had--there were friends of mine--they were friends of a man in Adonia. His name was--let's see!" He wondered whether the faint wrinkle of a frown under the bronze-flecked hair on her forehead was as much the expression of puzzled memory as she was trying to make it seem; there did appear something not wholly ingenuous in her looks just then. "Oh, his name is Flagg."
"Echford Flagg?"
"Yes, that's it. My friends were very friendly with him, and I'd like to be able to tell them----" She hesitated.
"You have given me some news," he declared, bluntly; in his mood of the day he was finding no good qualities in mankind. "I never heard of Eck Flagg having any friends. Well, I'll take that back! I believe he's ace high among the Tarratine Indians up our way; they have made him an honorary chief. But it's no particular compliment to a white man's disposition to be able to qualify as an Indian, as I look at it."
This time he was not in doubt about the expression on her face; a sudden grimace like grief wreathed the red lips and there was more than a suspicion of tears in her eyes. He stared at her, frankly amazed.
"If I have stepped on toes I am sorry. I never did know how to talk to young ladies without making a mess sooner or later."
She returned no reply, and he went on with his food to cover his embarrassment.
"Do you know Mr. Flagg?" she asked, after the silence had been prolonged.
"Not very well. But I know about him."
"What especially?"
"That he's a hard man. He never forgets or forgives an injury. Perhaps that's why he qualified so well as an Indian."
She straightened in her chair and narrowed those gray eyes. "Couldn't there have been another reason why he was chosen for such an honor?"
"I beg your pardon for passing along to you the slurs of the north country, miss----" he paused but she did not help him with her name. "It's mostly slurs up there," he went on, with bitterness, "and I get into the habit, myself. The Indians did have a good reason for giving Flagg that honor. He is the only one in the north who has respected the Indians' riparian rights, given by treaty and then stolen back. He pays them for hold-boom privileges when his logs are on their shores. They are free to come and go on his lands for birch bark and basket stuff--he's the only one who respects the old treaties. That's well known about Flagg in the north country. It's a good streak in any man, no matter what folks say about his general disposition."
"I'm glad to hear you say that much!"
She pushed back her chair slightly and began to take stock of her possessions. A sort of a panic came upon him. There were a lot of things he wanted to say, and he could not seem to lay a tongue to one of them. He stammered something about the wet day and wondered whether it would be considered impudence if he offered to escort her, holding over her the umbrella or carrying her parcel. He had crude ideas about the matter of squiring dames. He wanted to ask her not to hurry away. "Do you live here in New York--handy by?"
The cafeteria was just off lower Broadway, and she smiled. He realized the idiocy of the question.
"I work near here! You are going home to the north soon?" The polite query was in a tone which checked all his new impulses in regard to her.
"I'm headed north right now. If there's any information I can send you----"
She shook her head slowly, but even the negative was marked by an indecisive quality, as if she were repressing some importunate desire.
"I wish you a pleasant journey, sir." All her belongings were in her hands.
"It's queer--it's almost more than queer how we happened to meet--both interested in the north country," he stuttered, wanting to detain her.
He was hoping she would make something of the matter.
But she merely acknowledged the truth of his statement, adding, "There would be more such coincidences in life if folks took the trouble to interest themselves a bit in one another and compare notes."
She started to walk away; then she whirled and came back to the table and leaned over it. Her soul of longing was in her eyes--they were filled with