great white man, who was her
king of men. And she had her reward.

The first wild moments of greeting over, the boy's chatter flowed forth
in a breathless torrent. And all the while the man was observing those
things that mattered most to his maturer mind.

Marcel had grown astoundingly in the prolonged interval. The promise of
the sturdy body Steve had so often watched trundling across the snows of
Unaga in its bundle of furs had developed out of all knowledge under the
ample hospitality of Millie Ross's home. Tall, straight, muscular it had
shot up many inches. The boy was probably seven years of age. Steve did
not know for sure. Nor did it signify greatly. The things that mattered
were the ruddy, sunburnt cheeks of perfect health, the big, intelligent
blue eyes, the shapely mouth, and the sunny, wavy hair, all containing
the promise of a fine manhood to come. Then the firm, stout limbs, and
the powerful ribs. That which was in the handsome boyish face was in the
body, too. God willing, the man knew that the coming manhood would be
amply worth.

Slackening excitement brought the boy back to the thing which held his
vital interest, and he told of the great game he and An-ina were engaged
upon. He told of his failures and successes with impartial enthusiasm.
And finally invited his "Uncle" to join in the game.

"No, old fellow," he said. "I've got to get right along down to the
house to see Uncle Mac and Auntie Millie. You see, I've only just got
along from Reindeer. Guess I've been chasing a gopher for two years and
more. But like you I just didn't get him. Some day----"

"You been hunting gophers, Uncle Steve?" The childish interest leapt
afresh.

The man nodded, and his smiling eyes encountered those of the squaw. He
read the understanding he beheld there, and turned quickly to the child
again.

"Sure," he said drily. "But I didn't get him."

"No." The boy turned regretful eyes towards the open, where he, too, had
just failed to bag his quarry. "You kill 'em when you get 'em, Uncle. We
do, don't we, An-ina?" he added, appealing for corroboration.

"We always kills 'em, Uncle Steve," he went on, "'cos gophers are very
bad."

"Yes. Gophers are bad, old fellow. Always kill them. That's how I'd have
done if I'd got the one I was after. But I didn't get him. He ran too
fast for me. Maybe I'll find him another time. You never know. Do you?
Boy and Uncle and An-ina are going a great long way soon. We'll find
b