ide-open eyes, and Jolly Roger felt something
strange rising up in his breast.

Yellow Bird held out her hands toward him.

"We have been together, The Pigeon and I," she said. "We have slept in
each other's arms, and the warmth of her head has lain against my
breast. I have learned the secrets, Neekewa--all but one. The spirits
will not tell me where lies the Country Beyond. But it is not up
there--beyond the stars. It is not in death, but in life you will find
it. That they have told me. And you must not go back to where The
Pigeon lives, for you will find black desolation there--but always you
must keep on and on, seeking for the Country Beyond. You will find it.
And there also you will find The Pigeon--and happiness. You cannot
fail, Neekewa, yet my heart stings me that I cannot tell you where that
strange country is. But when I came to it gold and silver clouds shut
it in, and I could see nothing, and yet out of it came the singing of
birds and the promise of sweet voices that it shall be found--if you
seek faithfully, Neekewa. I am glad."

Each word that she spoke in her soft and tremulous Cree was a new
message of hope in the empty heart of Jolly Roger McKay. The world
might laugh. Men might tap their heads and smile. His own voice might
argue and taunt. But deep in his heart he believed.

Something of the radiance of the new day came into his face, even as it
was returning into Yellow Bird's. He looked about him--east, west,
north and south--upon the sunlit glory of water and earth, and suddenly
he reached out his arms.

"I'll find it, Yellow Bird," he cried. "I'll find this place you call
the Country Beyond! And when I do--"

He turned and took one of Yellow Bird's slim hands in both his own.

"And when I do, we'll come back to you, Yellow Bird," he said.

And like a cavalier of old he touched his lips gently to the palm of
Yellow Bird's little brown hand.

CHAPTER XI

Days of new hope and gladness followed in the camp of Yellow Bird and
Slim Buck. It was as if McKay, after a long absence, had come back to
his own people. The tenderness of mother and sister lay warm in Yellow
Bird's breast. Slim Buck loved him as a brother. The wrinkled faces of
the old softened when he came near and spoke to them; little children
followed him, and at dusk and dawn Sun Cloud held up her mouth to be
kissed. For the first time in years McKay felt as if he had found home.
The northland Indian Summer held the wo