El-Soo drew breath in a cosmopolitan atmosphere. Shecould speak English as well as she could her native tongue，and she sang English songs and ballads. The passing Indianceremonials she knew， and the perishing traditions. Thetribal dress of the daughter of a chief she knew how towear upon occasion. But for the most part she dressed aswhite women dress. Not for nothing was her needleworkat the Mission and her innate artistry. She carried herclothes like a white woman， and she made clothes thatcould be so carried.
In her way she was as unusual as her father， and theposition she occupied was as unique as his. She was theone Indian woman who was the social equal with theseveral white women at Tana-naw Station. She was theone Indian woman to whom white men honourably madeproposals of marriage. And she was the one Indian womanwhom no white man ever insulted.
For El-Soo was beautiful—not as white women arebeautiful， not as Indian women are beautiful. It was theflame of her， that did not depend upon feature， that washer beauty. So far as mere line and feature went， she wasthe classic Indian type. The black hair and the fine bronzewere hers， and the black eyes， brilliant and bold， keen assword-light， proud； and hers the delicate eagle nose withthe thin， quivering nostrils， the high cheek-bones thatwere not broad apart， and the thin lips that were not toothin. But over all and through all poured the flame ofher—the unanalysable something that was fire and thatwas the soul of her， that lay mellow-warm or blazed inher eyes， that sprayed the cheeks of her， that distendedthe nostrils， that curled the lips， or， when the lip was inrepose， that was still there in the lip， the lip palpitant withits presence.
And El-Soo had wit—rarely sharp to hurt， yet quickto search out forgivable weakness. The laughter of hermind played like lambent flame over all about her， andfrom all about her arose answering laughter. Yet she wasnever the centre of things. This she would not permit.
The large house， and all of which it was significant， washer father’s； and through it， to the last， moved his heroicfigure—host， master of the revels， and giver of the law. Itis true， as the strength oozed from him， that she caught upresponsibilities from his failing hands. But in appearancehe still ruled， dozing， ofttimes at the board， a bacchanalianruin， yet in all seeming the ruler of the feast.
And through the large house moved the figure ofPorportuk， ominous， with shaking head， coldly disapproving，paying for it all. Not that he really paid， for he compoundedinterest in weird ways， and year by year absorbed theproperties of Klakee-Nah. Porportuk once took it uponhimself to chide El-Soo upon the wasteful way of life inthe large house—it was when he had about absorbed thelast of Klakee-Nah’s wealth—but he never ventured soto chide again. El-Soo， like her father， was an aristocrat，as disdainful of money as he， and with an equal sense ofhonour as finely strung.
Porportuk continued grudgingly to advance money， andever the money flowed in golden foam away. Upon onething El-Soo was resolved—her father should die as he hadlived. There should be for him no passing from high tolow， no diminution of the revels， no lessening of the lavishhospitality. When there was famine， as of old， the Indianscame groaning to the large house and went away content.
When there was famine and no money， money was borrowedfrom Porportuk， and the Indians still went away content.
El-Soo might well have repeated， after the aristocrats ofanother time and place， that after her came the deluge. Inher case the deluge was old Porportuk. With every advanceof money， he looked upon her with a more possessive eye，and felt bourgeoning within him ancient fires.
But El-Soo had no eyes for him. Nor had she eyes forthe white men who wanted to marry her at the Missionwith ring and priest and book. For at Tana-naw Stationwas a young man， Akoon， of her own blood， and tribe， andvillage. He was strong and beautiful to her eyes， a greathunter， and， in that he had wandered far and much， verypoor； he had been to all the unknown wastes and places；he had journeyed to Sitka and to the United States； he hadcrossed the continent to Hudson Bay and back again， andas seal-hunter on a ship he had sailed to Siberia and forJapan.
When he returned from the gold-strike in Klondikehe came， as was his wont， to the large house to makereport to old Klakee-Nah of all the world that he hadseen； and there he first saw El-Soo， three years back fromthe Mission. Thereat， Akoon wandered no more. Herefused a wage of twenty dollars a day as pilot on the bigsteamboats. He hunted some and fished some， but neverfar from Tana-naw Station， and he was at the large houseoften and long. And El-Soo measured him against manymen and found him good. He sang songs to her， and wasardent and glowed until all Tana-naw Station knew heloved her. And Porportuk but grinned and advanced moremoney for the upkeep of the large house.
Then came the death table of Klakee-Nah.
He sat at feast， with death in his throat， that he couldnot drown with wine. And laughter and joke and songwent around， and Akoon told a story that made the raftersecho. There were no tears or sighs at that table. It wasno more than fit that Klakee-Nah should die as he hadlived， and none knew this better than El-Soo， with herartist sympathy. The old roystering crowd was there， and，as of old， three frost-bitten sailors were there， fresh fromthe long traverse from the Arctic， survivors of a ship’scompany of seventy-four. At Klakee-Nah’s back were fourold men， all that were left him of the slaves of his youth.
With rheumy eyes they saw to his needs， with palsiedhands filling his glass or striking him on the back betweenthe shoulders when death stirred and he coughed andgasped.
