and in
an hour or so the clouds had cleared off, and the sky was dazzlingly
fair and blue. But it gave Dick a curious shock to think that the
winter was close upon them. His thoughts turned to the homestead where
he and Stephanie had been received as welcome guests in the time of
sorrow and almost destitution, to that Christmas day when he had, as he
thought, fought and conquered his roving inclinations. How different
had been his intentions! Even in the hour of his greatest delight,
when freedom and the forests had filled his life, he had not been able
to stifle thoughts of Stephanie entirely. And now, when he was a
little tired of wandering, a little lonely, a little anxious, these
returned upon him with double force. Some of the glamour had perhaps
passed from a wild life. And it was a fact, that, however he might
love the wilderness, he could never become an unthinking, unquestioning
part of it, as was Peter Many-Names.

This knowledge brought with it his first feeling of intense shame and
repentance. But he fought against these feelings more stubbornly than
he had ever struggled against his longings for the gipsy-life of the
trapper and the Indian. Indeed, the very awakening of his conscience
and his almost dormant affection for Stephanie made him cling more
obstinately to the wilds. He angrily assured himself that he would not
go back. He had chosen his present deliberately, and the future must
take care of itself. With determination worthy of a better cause, he
faced the prairies and the cold sky, and nothing, he told himself
impatiently, should drive him to forsake that life which was dearer to
him than all. But, now the first dazed rapture and delight were over,
was it dearer than all? That was the point.

The difficulty was increased by the fact that the fall of snow had been
sufficient to cover the slight trail they were following. And now
Peter's caution began to re-appear. A bitter wind had suddenly arisen,
blowing with increasing force, and Peter as suddenly and emphatically
expressed a wish to return by the way they had come.

Dick, for the first time in all their daring journey, flatly refused to
follow the wishes of the Indian. He felt that to turn southward now
would seem like a concession to those softer, better feelings which
filled his heart, and of which he was so anxious to rid himself. If
they turned south now, they might never turn north again. And that one
homestead which