Still she had not lied.
"How'd this heah young Isbel strike you ?" queried her father, suddenly glancing up at her.
Ellen felt the slow, sickening, guilty rise of blood in her face.

She was helpless to stop it.

But her father evidently never saw it.

He was looking at her without seeing her.
"He--he struck me as different from men heah," she stammered.
"Did Sprague tell you aboot this half-Indian Isbel--aboot his reputation ?" "Yes." "Did he look to you like a real woodsman ?" "Indeed he did.

He wore buckskin.