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and the judgment taken
out of his own hands. He frowned at the young man beneath heavy
grizzled eyebrows drawn sternly together. "An' who are you to tell me
how to govern my ain hoose?" he demanded.
"My name's Morse--Tom Morse, Fort Benton, Montana, when my hat's
hangin' up. I took up your girl's proposition, that if I didn't head in at
our camp, but brought her here, you were to whip her and pay me
damages for what she'd done. Me, I didn't propose it. She did."
"You gave him your word on that, Jess?" her father asked.
"Yes." She dragged out, reluctantly, after a moment: "With a
horsewhip."
"Then that's the way it'll be. The McRaes don't cry back on a bargain,"

the dour old buffalo-hunter said. "But first we'll look at this young
man's arm. Get water and clean rags, Jess."
Morse flushed beneath the dark tan of his cheeks. "My arm's all right.
It'll keep till I get back to camp."
"No such thing, my lad. We'll tie it up here and now. If my lass cut
your arm, she'll bandage the wound."
"She'll not. I'm runnin' this arm."
McRae slammed a heavy fist down into the palm of his hand. "I'll be
showin' you aboot that, mannie."
"Hell, what's the use o' jawin'? I'm goin' to wait, I tell you."
"Don't curse in my camp, Mr. Morse, or whatever your name is." The
Scotchman's blue eyes flashed. "It's a thing I do not permeet. Nor do I
let beardless lads tell me what they will or won't do here. Your wound
will be washed and tied up if I have to order you hogtied first. So mak
the best o' that."
Morse measured eyes with him a moment, then gave way with a
sardonic laugh. McRae had a full share of the obstinacy of his race.
"All right. I'm to be done good to whether I like it or not. Go to it." The
trader pulled back the sleeve of his shirt and stretched out a muscular,
blood-stained arm. An ugly flesh wound stretched halfway from elbow
to wrist.
Jessie brought a basin, water, a towel, and clean rags. By the light of a
lantern in the hands of her father, she washed and tied up the wound.
Her lips trembled. Strange little rivers of fire ran through her veins
when her finger-tips touched his flesh. Once, when she lifted her eyes,
they met his. He read in them a concentrated passion of hatred.
Not even when she had tied the last knot in the bandage did any of
them speak. She carried away the towel and the basin while McRae

hung the lantern to a nail in the tent pole and brought from inside a
silver-mounted riding-whip. It was one he had bought as a present for
his daughter last time he had been at Fort Benton.
The girl came back and stood before him. A pulse beat fast in her
brown throat. The eyes betrayed the dread of her soul, but they met
without flinching those of the buffalo-hunter.
The Indian woman at the tent entrance made no motion to interfere.
The lord of her life had spoken. So it would be.
With a strained little laugh Morse took a step forward. "I reckon I'll not
stand out for my pound of flesh, Mr. McRae. Settle the damages for the
lost liquor and I'll call it quits."
The upper lip of the Scotchman was a straight line of resolution. "I'm
not thrashing the lass to please you, but because it's in the bond and
because she's earned it. Stand back, sir."
The whip swung up and down. The girl gasped and shivered. A flame
of fiery pain ran through her body to the toes. She set her teeth to bite
back a scream. Before the agony had passed, the whip was winding
round her slender body again like a red-hot snake. It fell with
implacable rhythmic regularity.
Her pride and courage collapsed. She sank to her knees with a wild
burst of wailing and entreaties. At last McRae stopped.
Except for the irregular sobbing breaths of the girl there was silence.
The Indian woman crouched beside the tortured young thing and
rocked the dark head, held close against her bosom, while she crooned
a lullaby in the native tongue.
McRae, white to the lips, turned upon his unwelcome guest. "You're
nae doot wearyin' to tak the road, man. Bring your boss the morn an' I'll
mak a settlement."
Morse knew he was dismissed. He turned and walked into the darkness

beyond the camp-fires. Unnoticed, he waited there in a hollow and
listened. For along time there came to him the soft sound of weeping,
and afterward the murmur of voices. He knew that the fat and