It would be a fight of brawn and
brain, unless--and those few who knew the "inner story" spoke softly
among themselves.
An ox in strength, gigantic in build, with a face that for days had worn
a sneering smile of triumph, O'Grady was already picked as a ten-to-one
winner. He was a magnificent canoeman, no man in Porcupine City could
equal him for endurance, and for his bow paddle he had the best Indian in
the whole Reindeer Lake country. He stalked up and down the one street of
Porcupine City, treating to drinks, cracking rough jokes, and offering
wagers, while Jan Larose and his long-armed Cree sat quietly in the shade
of the recorder's office waiting for the final moment to come.
There were a few of those who knew the "inner story" who saw something
besides resignation and despair in Jan's quiet aloofness, and in the
disconsolate droop of his head. His face turned a shade whiter when
O'Grady passed near, dropping insult and taunt, and looking sidewise at
him in a way that only HE could understand. But he made no retort, though
his dark eyes glowed with a fire that never quite died--unless it was
when, alone and unobserved, he took from his pocket a bit of buckskin in
which was a silken tress of curling brown hair. Then his eyes shone with
a light that was soft and luminous, and one seeing him then would have
known that it was not a dream of gold that filled his heart, but of a
brown-haired girl who had broken it.
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