t beautiful as you'd heerd tell of?"

His voice was eager with suppressed excitement. His pipe had gone out,
and he had forgotten everything but the story the Breed had told.

"Ay, that she was; her skin was as clear as the snow she trod on, an'
her eyes--gee! but I've never seen the like. Man, she was wonderful."

Victor threw up his hands in a sort of ecstasy and looked up at the
creaking roof.

"An' her hair?" asked Nick, wonderingly.

"A black fox pelt was white aside it."

"An' didn't ye foller her?"

The question came abruptly from Ralph, whom the others had forgotten.

"I didn't jest know you was awake," said Victor. "Wal, no, to own the
truth, I 'lows I was scart to death wi' what them neches said. Maybe I
wa'n't sorry to light out o' them woods."

They talked on for a few moments longer, then Ralph's stertorous
breathing told of sleep. Victor was not long in following his example.
Nick sat smoking thoughtfully for some time; presently he rose and put
out the lamp and stoked up the fire. Then he, too, rolled over in his
blankets, and, thinking of the beautiful White Squaw, dropped off to
sleep to continue his meditations in dreamland.

CHAPTER III.

THE QUEST OF THE WHITE SQUAW

Christmas had gone by and the new year was nearing the end of its first
month. It was many weeks since Victor Gagnon had come to the Westley's
dugout on that stormy evening. But his visit had not been forgotten. The
story of the White Squaw had made an impression upon Nick such as the
half-breed could never have anticipated. Ralph had thought much of it
too, but, left to himself, he would probably have forgotten it, or, at
most, have merely remembered it as a good yarn.

But this he was not allowed to do. Nick was enthusiastic. The romance of
the mountains was in his blood, and that blood was glowing with the
primest life of man. The fire of youth had never been stirred within
him, but it was there, as surely as it is in every human creature. Both
men were nearing forty years of age, and, beyond the associations of the
trader's place, they had never mixed with their fellows.

The dream of this beautiful White Squaw had come to Nick; and, in the
solitude of the forest, in the snow-bound wild, it remained with him, a
vision of such joy as he had never before dreamed. The name of "woman"
held for him suggestions of unknown delights, and the weird surroundings
with which Victor had enveloped the lovely creature made t