yellow light. Toward this Wapi sniffed out, step by
step, the footprints of the woman. When he stopped again, his muzzle
was at the narrow crack through which came the glimmer of light.

It was the door of a deck-house veneered like an igloo with snow and
ice to protect it from cold and wind. It was, perhaps, half an inch
ajar, and through that aperture Wapi drank the warm, sweet perfume of
the woman. With it he caught also the smell of a man. But in him the
woman scent submerged all else. Overwhelmed by it, he stood trembling,
not daring to move, every inch of him thrilled by a vast and mysterious
yearning. He was no longer Wapi, the Walrus; Wapi, the Killer. Tao was
there. And it may be that the spirit of Shan Tung was there. For after
forty years the change had come, and Wapi, as he stood at the woman's
door, was just dog,--a white man's dog--again the dog of the Vancouver
kennel--the dog of a white man's world.

He thrust open the door with his nose. He slunk in, so silently that he
was not heard. The cabin was lighted. In a bed lay a white-faced,
hollow-cheeked man--awake. On a low stool at his side sat a woman. The
light of the lamp hanging from above warmed with gold fires the thick
and radiant mass of her hair. She was leaning over the sick man. One
slim, white hand was stroking his face gently, and she was speaking to
him in a voice so sweet and soft that it stirred like wonderful music
in Wapi's warped and beaten soul. And then, with a great sigh, he
flopped down, an abject slave, on the edge of her dress.

With a startled cry the woman turned. For a moment she stared at the
great beast wide-eyed, then there came slowly into her face recognition
and understanding. "Why, it's the dog Blake whipped so terribly," she
gasped. "Peter, it's--it's Wapi!" For the first time Wapi felt the
caress of a woman's hand, soft, gentle, pitying, and out of him there
came a wimpering sound that was almost a sob.

"It's the dog--he whipped," she repeated, and, then, if Wapi could have
understood, he would have noted the tense pallor of her lovely face and
the look of a great fear that was away back in the staring blue depths
of her eyes.

From his pillow Peter Keith had seen the look of fear and the paleness
of her cheeks, but he was a long way from guessing the truth. Yet he
thought he knew. For days--yes, for weeks--there had been that growing
fear in her eyes. He had seen her mighty fight to hide it from him. And
he thoug