o the limit of safety was reached in a
dalliance that had nothing to do with the necessities of their trade.
The moment had come when the return must begin, or the disaster of
winter would terminate for ever their youthful dream. The night frosts
had done their work upon the pelts. The day was no longer sufficiently
warm to seriously undo it. So the canoes floated laden at their moorings
as Keeko had dreamed they would, and the last night on the shores of the
lake was already closing down.

The camp-fire of driftwood and peat was glowing ruddily. The Indians
were already deep within their fur-lined bags, and slumbering with the
utter indifference engendered of complete weariness of body. Marcel and
Keeko were squatting beside each other over the cheering warmth which
kept the night chills at bay. Marcel was smoking. Keeko had no such
comfort.

"I'd say Lorson Harris'll need to hand you something a heap better than
five thousand dollars," Marcel observed with a laugh of genuine
satisfaction and without turning from his contemplation of the fire.
"Where'll you keep it so----?"

Keeko looked up with a start. Her thoughts had been far removed from the
profit of her trade.

"At the bank at Seal Bay," she said hastily, lest her abstraction should
be noticed.

"You keep it all--there?"

"No." Keeko shook her head. "But I'll have to--this. It's just too big.
I'd be scared to carry it with me."

Marcel laughed again.

"That 'scare' again," he said. Then he turned, and for a moment gazed at
the perfect profile which showed up against the growing dusk. "Say, you
make me laff. Scare? You don't know what it means."

Keeko's eyes lit responsively as she turned and looked into his strong,
fire-lit face.

"Not now," she said quietly. "When I'm down there alone
it's--different."

"Alone?" Marcel removed his pipe from between his strong teeth. Then he
nodded. "Yes," he agreed, "maybe it's different then."

Just for a moment the impulse was strong in him to fling all
responsibility to the winds. He wanted to crush her in his great arms
and tell her all those things which life ordains that woman shall yearn
to hear. But the impulse was resisted. He knew it had to be.

"But you don't ever need to be alone again," he said simply. "You're
forgetting. There's that darn old moose. That's a sign. You've only to
send word, or come right along up. You see, the folks who're alone are
the folks who've got no one to go to when thing