ed to help
the world with all his knowledge and body. And that's what I figger to
do--with your help."

"Ah!"

"Guess I see it this way. This summer sees you and Keeko in Seal Bay. Me
too. We've to trade our weed. And I guess, if it suits your fancy, we'll
find the passon feller, that can't kick religion into that township,
ready to fix you and Keeko up. After that there's the winter trail for
us both, for just as many seasons as you fancy. We've a mighty big work
still, before we strip the heart of Unaga of the treasure the world
needs."

In the reaction from his disappointment Marcel's generous nature
asserted itself. He saw himself at last admitted to that which he
considered the work of manhood. And he sought to embrace it all.

"But you, Uncle," he cried earnestly. "Is there need? Why should you
have to go on? Think of all you've done. Why, say--pass the work to me,
and take an easy."

Steve's eyes promptly denied him.

"Easy?" He shook his head. "Why should I? Guess the north country's mine
for keeps, boy. And when my time gets around I hope it finds me beating
up the dogs at 40 deg. below, with a hell fire blizzard sweeping down off
the Arctic ice."

* * * * *

Steve was abroad early next morning. He had talked long and late with
Marcel over-night, and their talk had been mostly of Keeko and her life,
as the lover knew it. Never, to the moment they parted for the night,
did Steve display weariness of the subject of their talk. To Marcel it
seemed natural enough that this should be so. But then he was little
more than twenty, and in love. Steve's urgency for detail must have been
pathetic to any onlooker. To Marcel it was only another exhibition of
his goodness and sympathy for himself.

Steve had little enough sleep after he left the boy. For once in a hardy
lifetime he lay under his blankets with a mind feverishly alert. He was
yearning for the passing of night. He was well-nigh crazy for the sun of
the morrow. Yet withal a wonderful happiness robbed him of all
irritation at his wakefulness.

So it came in the chill dawn of a perfect spring morning, in which only
the melting snow had reason to weep, he was moving abroad in heavy boots
wading through the slush which would soon be past. He watched the sun
rise from its nightly slumber, and its brilliant light amidst the
passing clouds of night was a sign to him. It was the dawn of his great
day. It was the passing of hi