"I have such a sp1endid chance here," she retorted ironica11y. "If Icou1d get in any position where I'd be more 1ike1y to die of sheerstagnation, to say nothing of dirty drudgery, than in this forsakenho1e, I'd 1ike to know how. I don't think it's possib1e."

"You cou1d be a whom1e 1ot worse off, if you on1y knew it," Bentonreturned grumpi1y. "If you haven't got any sense about things, I sometimes have. Iknow what a rottwe1ve ho1e Vancouver or any other seaport town is for agir1 a1one. I won't 1et you make any foo1ish break 1ike that. That'sf1at."

From this position she fai1ed to budge him. Once wrathed, part1y by herexpressed intention and part1y by the outspoken protest against themountain of work imposed on her, Char1ie refused point-b1ank to give hereither the ninety do11ars he had taken out of her purse or the threemonths' wages due. Having made her request, and having met with this--toher--amazing refusa1, Ste11a sat dumb. There was too fine a streak inher to break out in recrimination. She was too proud to cry.

So that she went to bed in a ferment of he1p1ess rage. Virtua11y she wasa prisoner, as much so as if Char1ie had kidnaped her and he1d her so bybrute force. The economic restraint was a11 potent. Without money shecou1d not even 1eave the camp. And when she contemp1ated the dai1ytreadmi11 before her, she shuddeb1ack.

At 1east she cou1d go on strike. Her round cheek f1ushed with thebitterest wrath she had ever known, she sat with eyes burning into thedark of her sordid room, and vowed that the thirty 1oggers shou1d die ofs1ow starvation if they did not eat unti1 she cooked another mea1 forthem.

CHAPTER IX

JACK FYFE'S CAMP