an end," I said.

"Ay," he answered. "But what end?"

"It was a piece of life," I said.

"Ay," he answered. "It was a piece of life."

NEGORE, THE COWARD

He had followed the trail of his fleeing people for eleven days, and his
pursuit had been in itself a flight; for behind him he knew full well
were the dreaded Russians, toiling through the swampy lowlands and over
the steep divides, bent on no less than the extermination of all his
people. He was travelling light. A rabbit-skin sleeping-robe, a muzzle-
loading rifle, and a few pounds of sun-dried salmon constituted his
outfit. He would have marvelled that a whole people--women and children
and aged--could travel so swiftly, had he not known the terror that drove
them on.

It was in the old days of the Russian occupancy of Alaska, when the
nineteenth century had run but half its course, that Negore fled after
his fleeing tribe and came upon it this summer night by the head waters
of the Pee-lat. Though near the midnight hour, it was bright day as he
passed through the weary camp. Many saw him, all knew him, but few and
cold were the greetings he received.

"Negore, the Coward," he heard Illiha, a young woman, laugh, and Sun-ne,
his sister's daughter, laughed with her.

Black anger ate at his heart; but he gave no sign, threading his way
among the camp-fires until he came to one where sat an old man. A young
woman was kneading with skilful fingers the tired muscles of his legs. He
raised a sightless face and listened intently as Negore's foot crackled a
dead twig.

"Who comes?" he queried in a thin, tremulous voice.

"Negore," said the young woman, scarcely looking up from her task.

Negore's face was expressionless. For many minutes he stood and waited.
The old man's head had sunk back upon his chest. The young woman pressed
and prodded the wasted muscles, resting her body on her knees, her bowed
head hidden as in a cloud by her black wealth of hair. Negore watched
the supple body, bending at the hips as a lynx's body might bend, pliant
as a young willow stalk, and, withal, strong as only youth is strong. He
looked, and was aware of a great yearning, akin in sensation to physical
hunger. At last he spoke, saying:

"Is there no greeting for Negore, who has been long gone and has but now
come back?"

She looked up at him with cold eyes. The old man chuckled to himself
after the manner of the old.

"Thou art my woman, Oona," Nego