A. M. Chisholm

“ I replied, recalling his exact words through the years: "‘The devil take McClintock and the furs! And you get out of here! You ought to know you're a crowd.’"
"That's it," said Peggy, with a soft laugh, and a dreamy light in her eyes. "That's the finish—the eternal, unavoidable, logical finish. That's just what father would say." ”

“ That was not well, Ignace Mountain."
"She hyas mesachie klootchman," the Indian returned.
"Even if she was a bad woman," said Toft, "you should not have killed her. That is murder, and for murder men are hanged. It is in our minds to take you to be tried for it by the white man's law. What have you to say?"
Ignace Mountain looked from face to face, and read condemnation. He took a step forward and threw out his hand.
"She hyas mesachie klootchman," he repeated. "You no savvy. You listen: When me marry that 'ooman me good man—me skookum, me walk straight, me have face all same other man. ”

“ I pointed out. "There is nothing more to tell."
"You must always finish the story," said Peggy wisely, "with a love scene. They all do it. And you don't say what became of mother—I mean Peggy, the dear—and Jim Dunleath."
"Nothing became of them. They got married, of course, but any one would know that."
"Nonsense!" said Peggy. "You've left out the real, artistic ending. When old McClintock made that offer for the furs, Peggy and Jim weren't there, and you went to look for them to tell him about it. ”