chopped wood, carried water. She took upon herself the care of the
house. And through the long evenings, in default of conversation, they
would sit with a book on either side of the fireplace that roared
defiance to the storm gods without.

And sometimes Hazel would find herself wondering why Roaring Bill
Wagstaff could not have come into her life in a different manner. As
it was--she never, _never_ would forgive him.

CHAPTER XII

THE FIRES OF SPRING

There came a day when the metallic brilliancy went out of the sky, and
it became softly, mistily blue. All that forenoon Hazel prowled
restlessly out of doors without cap or coat. There was a new feel in
the air. The deep winter snow had suddenly lost its harshness. A
tentative stillness wrapped the North as if the land rested a moment,
gathering its force for some titanic effort.

Toward evening a mild breeze freshened from the southwest. The tender
blue of the sky faded at sundown to a slaty gray. Long wraiths of
cloud floated up with the rising wind. At ten o'clock a gale whooped
riotously through the trees. And at midnight Hazel wakened to a sound
that she had not heard in months. She rose and groped her way to the
window. The encrusting frost had vanished from the panes. They were
wet to the touch of her fingers. She unhooked the fastening, and swung
the window out. A great gust of damp, warm wind blew strands of hair
across her face. She leaned through the casement, and drops of cold
water struck her bare neck. That which she had heard was the dripping
eaves. The chinook wind droned its spring song, and the bare boughs of
the tree beside the cabin waved and creaked the time. Somewhere
distantly a wolf lifted up his voice, and the long, throaty howl
swelled in a lull of the wind. It was black and ghostly outside, and
strange, murmuring sounds rose and fell in the surrounding forests, as
though all the dormant life of the North was awakening at the seasonal
change. She closed the window and went back to bed.

At dawn the eaves had ceased their drip, and the dirt roof laid bare to
the cloud-banked sky. From the southwest the wind still blew strong
and warm. The thick winter garment of the earth softened to slush, and
vanished with amazing swiftness. Streams of water poured down every
depression. Pools stood between the house and stable. Spring had
leaped strong-armed upon old Winter and vanquished him at the first
onslaught.