"Food! Sleep!" he replied to her question.

"You can't stop here," the girl asserted, firmly.

"Oh yes, we can," said Emerson. "You have plenty of room, and there's lots
of food"--he indicated the shelves of canned goods.

The squaw, without moving, raised her voice and called: "Constantine!
Constantine!"

A door in the farther shadows opened, and the tall figure of a man
emerged, advancing swiftly, his soft soles noiseless beneath him.

"Well, well! It's old Squirrel-Tail," cried Fraser. "Good-evening,
Constantine."

It was the copper-hued native who had rescued them from the river earlier
in the day; but although he must have recognized them, his demeanor had no
welcome in it. The Indian girl broke into a torrent of excited volubility,
unintelligible to the white men.

"You no stop here," said Constantine, finally; and, making toward the
outer door, he flung it open, pointing out into the night.

"We've come a long way, and we're tired," Emerson argued, pacifically.
"We'll pay you well."

Constantine only replied with added firmness, "No," to which the other
retorted with a flash of rising anger, "_Yes!_"