will be the only way."

"I think so."

"It will be hard. It may be, after all, that I am a coward. But to face
all that--alone--"

"You won't be alone," he said quietly, still looking at the far-away
hills. "If you go, I am going with you."

It seemed as if she had stopped breathing for a moment at his side, and
then, with a little, sobbing cry she drew away from him and stood at the
half-opened door of Nawadlook's room, and the glory in her eyes was the
glory of his dreams as he had wandered with her hand in hand over the
tundras in those days of grief and half-madness when he had thought
she was dead.

"I am glad I was in Ellen McCormick's cabin the day you came," she was
saying. "And I thank God for giving me the madness and courage to come
to _you_. I am not afraid of anything in the world now--because--_I love
you, Alan_!"

And as Nawadlook's door closed behind her, Alan stumbled out into the
sunlight, a great drumming in his heart, and a tumult in his brain that
twisted the world about him until for a little it held neither vision
nor space nor sound.

CHAPTER XX

In that way, with the beautiful world swimming in sunshine and golden
tundra haze until foothills and mountains were like castles in a dream,
Alan Holt set off with Tautuk and Amuk Toolik, leaving Stampede and Keok
and Nawadlook at the corral bars, with Stampede little regretting that
he was left behind to guard the range. For a mighty resolution had taken
root in the prospector's heart, and he felt himself thrilled and a bit
trembling at the nearness of the greatest drama that had ever entered
his life. Alan, looking back after the first few minutes, saw that Keok
and Nawadlook stood alone. Stampede was gone.

The ridge beyond the coulee out of which Mary Standish had come with
wild flowers soon closed like a door between him and Sokwenna's cabin,
and the straight trail to the mountains lay ahead, and over this Alan
set the pace, with Tautuk and Amuk Toolik and a caravan of seven
pack-deer behind him, bearing supplies for the herdsmen.

Alan had scarcely spoken to the two men. He knew the driving force which
was sending him to the mountains was not only an impulse, but almost an
inspirational thing born of necessity. Each step that he took, with his
head and heart in a swirl of intoxicating madness, was an effort behind
which he was putting a sheer weight of physical will. He wanted to go
back. The urge was upon him to surrender utterly