elt
well satisfied on the whole. So he stood thinking and waiting with a
calm mind.

But the tragedy was working itself out in a manner little suspected,
little expected, by him. This he was soon to learn.

The grey spring snow spread itself out on every hand, only was the
wood-lined hill, which stretched away to the right and left of him, and
behind the hut, bare of the wintry pall. The sky was brilliant in
contrast with the greyness of the world beneath it, and the sun shone
high in the blue vault. Everywhere was the deadly calm of the Silent
North. The presence of any moving forest beast in that brooding picture,
however distant, must surely have caught the eye. There was not a living
thing to be seen. These woful wastes have much to do with the rugged
nature of those who dwell in the north.

Suddenly the whole prospect seemed to be electrified with a thrill of
life. The change came with a swift movement of the man's quiet eyes.
Nothing had really altered in the picture, nothing had appeared, and yet
that swift flash of the eyes had brought a suggestion of something which
broke up the solitude as though it had never been.

Awhile, and his attention became fixed upon the long line of woods to
the right. Then his ears caught a slight but distinct sound. He stood
away from the doorway, and, shading his eyes from the sunlight, looked
keenly along the dark shadow of the woods. No wolf or fox could have
keener instinct than had this man. A sound of breaking brush, but so
slight that it probably would have passed unheeded by any other, had
told him that some one approached through these woods.

He waited.

Suddenly there was movement in the shadow. The next moment a figure
stepped out into the open. A figure, dressed in beaded buckskin and
blanket clothing. It was Davia.

She came in haste, yet wearily. She looked slight and drooping in her
mannish garments, while the pallor of her drawn face was intense. She
came up to where Jean stood and would have fallen but for his support.
Her journey had been rapid and long, and she was utterly weary of body.

"Quick, let's git inside," she cried, in a choking voice. Then she added
hysterically: "He's on the trail."

Without a word Jean led her into the house, and she flung herself into a
seat. A little whiskey put new life into her and the colour came back to
her face. She was strong, a woman bred to hardship and toil.

Jean waited; then he put a question with characteri