ectators had been intent on the drama of the
steps, only Kayak Bill, perhaps, knew its real significance. The old
man now stood in the doorway of the store, his sombrero pushed to the
back of his head, a pair of binoculars held against his eyes.

From around the point beyond the Indian Village and into the bay, a
white-sailed schooner had drifted. As it advanced there was wafted
across the water a faint and silvery fragment of melody which endured
but a moment and was gone.

The White Chief turned his back on the courtyard and for the first time
noted Kayak Bill's attitude. He followed the direction of the old
man's gaze and beheld the incoming vessel just as the white men and
Indians behind him broke out in a babble of interest and curiosity.

There floated inshore the rattle of the windlass letting go the anchor
chain. On the deck of the schooner men ran about as the sails were
lowered. The vessel swung gently until the bow headed into the current
of the incoming tide.

"Get out the canoe, Silvertip," ordered the trader, turning to his
henchman, "and take Swimming Wolf with you. Find out who's----"

He broke off, wondering, incredulous, for at that moment across the
water came the golden singing of a violin. Wonderfully low and tender
it began. Swelling, it rose and soared and trembled, then with
lingering, chorded sweetness died away like the exquisite music of a
dream.

The listeners on the shore stood spellbound. Gregg Harlan, swaying in
the doorway of his cabin, steadied himself while the silvery harmony
stole into his clouded senses.

"Strange--strange," he muttered, "a violin--playing like that--in
Katleean. Dreams--more--dreams--" He stumbled into the room and the
weeping Indian girl guided his footsteps to the narrow bunk in the
corner.

In the after-sunset light that precedes the long Alaskan twilight there
is some rare quality that seems to bring nearer objects on the water.
Kayak Bill in the doorway, took another long look through the glasses,
then stepped down to the White Chief's side. His voice was the first
to break the enchanted silence that followed the strains of the violin.

"That wind-jammer's the _Hoonah_ I been a-tellin' you of, Chief," he
drawled, holding out the binoculars. "There's two women aboard o' her,
instead o' one. 'Pears to me like one o' them's purty young, and it's
her that's standin' in the stern a-playin' o' the fiddle."

[1] Corruption of the French _