es which
her aboriginal mind made no effort to conceal.

Steve was standing some yards away, with his horse's reins linked over
his arm. As the woman approached he moved forward to meet her. But his
eyes were on the boy, still in vain pursuit of the escaped gophers,
pausing, stalking, completely and utterly absorbed.

The woman realized the white man's pre-occupation. She was even glad of
it. So, in her simple way, she explained.

"This--his game," she said. "He mak' great hunter," she added with
simple pride. "An-ina tell him gophers bad--much. So he say Marcel hunt
'em. Him kill 'em. Him say Uncle Steve say all things bad must be kill."

"He still thinks of--Uncle Steve?"

The enquiry came with a smile. But the man had withdrawn his gaze from
the distant child, and was earnestly searching the woman's smiling face.

"Marcel think Uncle Steve all man," she said quickly. "Uncle Mac, oh,
yes. Auntie Millie, oh, very good. An-ina. Yes. An-ina help in all
things. Uncle Steve? Uncle Steve come bimeby, then all things no
matter."

"Is that so? Does he feel that way? After two years?"

"Marcel think all things for Uncle Steve--always. An-ina tell him Uncle
Steve come bimeby. Sure come. She tell him all time. So Marcel think. He
not forget. No. He speak with the good spirit each night: 'God bless
Uncle Steve, an' send him back to boy.'"

The man's smile thanked her. And a deep tenderness looked out of his
steady eyes as they were turned again in the direction of the distant,
running figure.

"You come back--yes?"

The woman's voice was low. It was thrilling with a hope and emotion
which her words failed to express.

"Yes. I'm back for keeps." Steve's gaze came back to the soft eyes of
the woman. "That is, I'm going back to Unaga--with the boy. Will An-ina
come, too?"

"Boss Steve go back--Unaga?"

A startled light had replaced the softness of the Woman's eyes. Then,
after a moment, as no reply was forthcoming, she went on.

"Oh, yes. An-ina know." She glanced away in the direction where the
police post stood, and a woman's understanding was in the sympathy
shining in her eyes. "White man officer no more. Oh, yes. No little baby
girl. No. No nothing. Only Marcel, an'--maybe An-ina. So. Oh, yes.
Unaga. When we go?"

There was no hesitation, no doubt in the woman's mind. And the utter and
complete self-abnegation of it all was overwhelming to the man.

"You--you're a good soul, An-ina," he said, in the clumsy