Beauty--Beauty--Beauty, well done again!"

He held out his hand to Fleda, but she drew back with disgust. Felix
Marchand, the son of old Hector Marchand, money-lender and capitalist of
Manitou, had pressed his attentions upon her during the last year since
he had returned from the East, bringing dissoluteness and vulgar pride
with him. Women had spoiled him, money had corrupted and degraded him.

"Come, beautiful brave, it's Salut! Salut! Salut!" he said, bending
towards her familiarly.

Her face flushed with anger.

"Let me pass, monsieur," she said sharply.

"Pride of Manitou--" he apostrophized, but got no farther.

Ingolby caught him by the shoulders, wheeled him round, and then flung
him at the feet of Tekewani and his braves.

At this moment Tekewani's eyes had such a fire as might burn in Wotan's
smithy. He was ready enough to defy the penalty of the law for
assaulting a white man, but Felix Marchand was in the dust, and that
would do for the moment.

With grim face Ingolby stood over the begrimed figure. "There's the
river if you want more," he said. "Tekewani knows where the water's
deepest." Then he turned and followed Fleda and the woman in black.
Felix Marchand's face was twisted with hate as he got slowly to his feet.