reak upon her brow, Steve ventured his reply.

"Yes. It must have got through, I guess," he said. "It must have reached
the Indian Department at Ottawa. They sent it right along to the man at
the Allowa Reserve where I'm stationed, and communicated with the
police. That's how I received my instructions. They said your husband
was supposed to be--murdered. And his partner, too."

"I put that in my letter," the woman said quickly. "I just had to. You
see--" she broke off. But after a brief hesitation she went on. "But I
don't know. I don't know anything that's happened really. He went away
on a trip eighteen months ago, with Cy. It was to Seal Bay, with trade.
He ought to have been back that fall. I haven't had a word since. I've
been eighteen months here alone with An-ina, and--these Sleepers. He
might have met with accident. But it's more likely murder. These
Sleepers suspected. They were frightened he'd found out. You see, this
stuff--this Adresol--is sacred to them. They would kill anyone who found
out where they get it from."

A spasm of pain contorted her drawn face and again her eyes closed under
the agony. She re-opened them at the sound of Steve's voice.

"Will you tell me, ma'm?" he said.

Steve's manner was gentle. His sympathy for this stricken creature was
real and deep. She was a woman, suffering and alone in a God-forsaken
land. The thought appalled him.

For some moments his invitation remained without response. The woman lay
there unmoving, inert. Only was life in her hot eyes, and the trifling
rise and fall of the bed covering as she breathed. Obviously she was
considering. Perhaps she was wondering how much she had a right to tell
this officer. She was completely without guidance. If her husband had
been alive doubtless her lips would have remained sealed. But he was not
there, and she knew not what had become of him. Then there was little
Marcel, and she knew that when she left that bed it would be only for a
cold grave on this bleak plateau of Unaga.

Steve waited with infinite patience. He felt it to be a moment for
patience. Suddenly she began to talk in a rapid, feverish way.

"Yes, yes," she cried. "I must tell you now, and quickly. Maybe when
you've heard it all you'll help me. There's no one else can help me.
You see, it's my boy--my little boy. He's all I have in the world--now.
He's the sun and light of my life. It's the thought of him alone, with
only An-ina, in this terrible land tha