e, as plain as intent could
make it. "My Marcel." It told him all--all that a man desires to know
when a woman bares her heart to him. It was Keeko's farewell message
that he was not intended to discover till the break of winter. It was
her summons to him, not for mere help, but a summons to him telling him
that her love was his.

He ran to the edge of the cliff. He searched the grey headland where the
shadows had swallowed up the canoes. There remained nothing--nothing but
the dull, cold prospect of the coming of winter--the relentless Arctic
winter.

He stood there without sign or sound. He made no movement. But the heart
of the man was shining in his eyes.

A shot rang out in the woods behind him. It was distant, but it split up
the silence with a meaning that could not be denied.

Marcel turned. The light in his eyes had changed. They were shadowed as
not even the parting had shadowed them. Oh, yes, he knew. It was a
signal to him. His own men were searching for him. It warned him that
winter was fast approaching, that merciless winter of Unaga, and these
men, these Sleepers, were eager to return to the warm comfort of their
quarters and their winter's sleep.

CHAPTER XI

THROUGH THE EYES OF A WOMAN

An-ina smoothed her brown hand over the superfine surface of the spread
of buckskin where it lay on the counter in the store. Her dark eyes were
critically contemplating it, while she held ready a large pair of
scissors.

A great contentment pervaded her life. It was in her wide, wise eyes now
as she considered the piece of material which was to provide a shirt for
Steve. The buckskin had been prepared by her own hands. It was soft, and
tawny with the perfect tint she desired. It could not be too soft, or
too good for Steve. That was her thought as she prepared to hew it into
shape for the sewing and beading which no other hands would be permitted
to work.

Her contemplation was broken by the abrupt flinging open of the door of
the store. She turned quickly, expectantly, and the smiling content in
her eyes, as they rested on the figure of Steve, left no doubt as to the
welcome nature of the interruption.

"You mak your plan?" she demanded.

The manner of her question was that of poignant interest. Her whole
thought was centred on the life and well-being of this white man. For
the moment the buckskin was forgotten.

Steve closed the door. He came over to the counter behind which were
piled the st