fashion of a
man unused to giving expression to his deeper feelings. "God made you a
squaw. He handed you a colour that sets you a race apart from white
folk, but he gave you a heart so big and white that an angel might envy.
Yes, I want you An-ina. So does Marcel. We both want you bad.
Unaga--it's a hell of a country, but you come along right up there with
us, and I'll fix things so you'll be as happy as that darn country'll
let you be. Julyman and Oolak are going along with us. They've quit the
police, same as I have. I can't do without them, same as we can't do
without An-ina. We're going there for the boy. Not for ourselves. It's
the weed. We got to do all that Marcel's father reckoned to do. And when
we've done it Marcel will be rich and great. Same as you would have him
be. There's 'no nothing' for me anywhere now but with Marcel. You
understand? You'll help?"

All the softness had returned to the woman's eyes, untaught to hide
those inner feelings of her elemental soul.

"An-ina help? Oh, yes." Then she added with a smile of patient content:
"An-ina always help. She love boy, too. You fix all things. You say
'go.' An-ina go. So we come by Unaga. It storm. Oh, yes. It snow. It
freeze. It no matter. Nothing not matter. Auntie Millie mak' boy and
An-ina speak with the Great Spirit each night. An' He bless you all
time. Him mak' you safe all time. An-ina know--sure."

The frank simplicity of it all left the white man searching for words to
express his gratitude. But complete and utter helplessness supervened.

"Thanks, An-ina," he articulated. And he dared not trust himself to
more.

Diversion came at a moment when he was never more thankful for it. The
shrill treble of the boy reached them across the stretch of tawny,
summer grass.

"Uncle Stee-e-ve! Uncle St-ee-ee-ve!"

Little Marcel was unstinting in all things. His call was not simply
preliminary. His enthusiasm for the hunt was incomparable with his new
enthusiasm. His call of recognition came as he ran towards the object of
his hero-worship, and he ran with all his might.

It was a breathless child that was lifted into Steve's arms and hugged
with an embrace the sight of which added to the squaw's smile of
happiness. The boy's arms were flung about the man's neck with complete
and utter abandonment. An-ina looked on, and no cloud of jealousy
shadowed her joy. She had done all in her power that the white man
should not be forgotten in his absence. The