The traders at the post and their families would join in the revels.  With the exception of Morse, they had all taken Indian wives, in the loose marriage of the country, and for both business and family reasons they maintained a close relationship with the natives.  Most of their children used the mother tongue, though they could make shift to express themselves in English.  In this respect as in others the younger McRaes were superior.  They talked English well.  They could read and write.  Their father had instilled in them a reverence for the Scriptures and some knowledge of both the Old and New Testaments.  It was his habit to hold family prayers every evening.  Usually half a dozen guests were present at these services in addition to his immediate household.

With the Indians came their dogs, wolfish creatures, prick-eared and sharp-muzzled, with straight, bristling hair.  It was twenty below zero, but the gaunt animals neither sought nor were given shelter.  They roamed about in front of the fort stockade, snapping at each other or galloping off on rabbit hunts through the timber.

The custom was that on this day the braves of the tribe kissed every woman they met in token of friendship and good-will.  To fail of saluting one, young or old, was a breach of good manners.  Since daybreak they had been marching in to Angus McRae’s house and gravely kissing his wife and daughter.

Jessie did not like it.  She was a fastidious young person.  But she could not escape without mortally offending the solemn-eyed warriors who offered this evidence of their esteem.  As much as possible she contrived to be busy upstairs, but at least a dozen times she was fairly cornered and made the best of it.

At dinner she and the other women of the fort waited on their guests and watched prodigious quantities of food disappear rapidly.  When the meal was ended, the dancing began.  The Crees shuffled around in a circle, hopping from one foot to the other in time to the beating of a skin drum.  The half-breeds and whites danced the jigs and reels the former had brought with them from the Red River country.  They took the floor in couples.  The men did double-shuffles and cut pigeon wings, moving faster and faster as the fiddler quickened the tune till they gave up at last exhausted.  Their partners performed as vigorously, the moccasined feet twinkling in and out so fast that the beads flashed.

Because it was the largest building in the place, the dance was held in the C.N.  Morse & Company store.  From behind the counter Jessie applauded the performers.  She did not care to take part herself.  The years she had spent at school had given her a certain dignity.

A flash of scarlet caught her eye.  Two troopers of the Mounted Police had come into the room and one of them was taking off his fur overcoat.  The trim, lean-flanked figure and close-cropped, curly head she recognized at once with quickened pulse.  When Winthrop Beresford came into her neighborhood, Jessie McRae’s cheek always flew a flag of greeting.