As Donald moved to his place at the table the men arose and clapped their hands. Someone called for a cheer, but Donald laughingly held up his hand.
“Men, I can’t find words to tell you how much I appreciate your good work. Your long hours of labour enabled the Company to get an important order away on time, thereby saving their prestige in a big Eastern market. You will receive double pay for every hour you worked during the week.”
A low murmur of applause followed this welcome announcement.
After lunch, feeling the need of exercise, Donald made his way slowly down the hill. The severe mauling and the days in bed had weakened him to such an extent that he was forced to take frequent rests. As he turned a curve in the trail, Hand and the man with whom Andy had fought crawled stealthily from the bush, looked furtively about them, then followed Donald down the hill. He reached the open glade by the fairy nest to find Connie seated by the rippling stream, her chin resting in cupped hands, and staring dreamily into the flashing water.
“Ah!” he cried gaily, “I have caught my little dryad at her orisons.”
At the sound of his voice Connie sprang to her feet, her heart racing madly. Hearing a sound behind him, Donald turned to find the eyes of the Breed fixed on him in a malignant glare that chilled him to the marrow. For a short interval the dusky orbs of the Indian held his as though with a hypnotic power.
“Whew!” he ejaculated, as the Breed hobbled down the trail, “your guardian sure does give me an awful look. Why does he hate me, Connie?”
“What were you dreaming about, Connie?” he asked interestedly.
A gay light danced momentarily in her shining eyes, and the red lips curved in a smile; “I was dreaming I was rich,” she archly confessed.
“An old, old dream,” smiled Donald as he stretched himself painfully on the moss.
As always, this spot gave Donald a restful feeling. The gentle zephyrs wafted from the woods about them were somnolently delicious and the sparkling glacial stream that rippled through the glade sang its clear, sweet song. He closed his eyes wearily.
The proximity of the man she loved, lying there with his arm in a splint, his handsome face still bearing the marks of the blows he had suffered in her defence, thrilled Connie to the depths of her warm, impulsive heart. An almost overmastering desire to touch his hair possessed her.