hootin' iron that spewed its durned in'ards all over the
range." In the growing anxiety over the non-arrival of the _Hoonah_,
Ellen had relaxed somewhat, her vigilant attitude toward Harlan, and so
Jean had come to join the young man on his hunting expeditions.

Recalling them now she glowed at the memory of those past October
mornings, when, leaving the rest of the family sleeping she had slipped
out of the cabin and met the waiting hunter. She had grown to love the
hunt--the early sun sparkling on the yellow of frost-coated grass, the
green of the ocean, the tonic of the sea air, and the swift,
never-to-be-forgotten creak-creak-creak of flying wings close overhead.
There was a thrill in the cautious creeping toward the lake wreathed in
the gossamer mists of the autumn morning, and the wriggling through the
stiffened yellow grass, and a pang of delighted wonder at coming so
close to the wild, winged things, squattering and making soft
duck-chatterings in the shadow of the reeds.

But duck-hunting days were over now, she reminded herself regretfully.
The shotgun was useless.

Shane's wound continued to heal without complications, but still after
everyone else had long been in bed, Jean could hear Ellen pacing the
floor nearly every night. This increased the uneasiness that had been
growing upon the girl. She wished Ellen would confide more in her.
She was finding it very hard for her to understand her sister these
days. Ellen had not been herself for weeks. The girl recalled her
curious and changeable attitude toward the pigeon the White Chief had
given Loll. From at first ignoring it, Ellen had suddenly begun to
manifest a lively interest in its welfare. The best of the rolled oats
went to feed it. Owing to the occasional frosts Ellen had moved the
cage into the shed and she herself had solicitously covered it nightly
with an old blanket. Sometimes she had stood for ten minutes at a time
looking in at the smoke-grey bird.

One incident stood out clearly in Jean's mind. She had come upon Ellen
musing thus beside the cage. Her sister had just washed her hair and
it hung about her shoulders in lovely, golden-brown profusion. There
was a look on her face--Jean, thinking of it, shook her head to banish
the memory of that look. Presently Ellen had reached up and with a
trembling hand gathered together the short tresses that marked the
place where she had--foolishly, Jean thought--cut off the lock of hair
in