te characters wrote a message. She
would attach it to the pigeon and turn the bird loose. Perhaps it
might fly back to Katleean, and then, surely, if the White Chief found
her message he would make an effort to come at once.

Half an hour later she had the pigeon on the beach below the cabin.
She was urging it to fly, but the bird merely spread its wings and
fluttered about. Fearing that the long confinement had deprived it of
the power of flight, Jean was redoubling her efforts, when Loll came
running along the sand.

"Gee Whiz, Jean!" he yelled, "What-cha doing with my pigeon? Can't you
see he can't fly good yet? Dad clipped his wings that time one of them
got caught in the hinge of his cage." And Lollie, with coaxing noises
and terms of endearment proceeded to gather his pet into his arms.

Obliged by Ellen's illness to assume the responsibilities of the larder
Jean was surprised and dismayed at the small amount of food that was
left them. She tried to banish the fears that this knowledge brought
her by talking cheerfully of the certainty of procuring seabird eggs.

Spring had the effect of coming suddenly. The yellow grass and bare
branches which had greeted them for so many months changed seemingly
overnight. The adventurers awakened one morning to find that the
alders had burst into pungent, sticky little green leaves and the
tundra had taken on a tinge of emerald. When the Indian celery had
grown a foot in height Jean and Loll brought an arm-load to the cabin.
The girl remembered that Senott at Katleean had told her "him plenty
good eatin' when salmon run." Everyone craved something green and
though the celery was hollow-stalked, very watery and of a strong musky
taste and odor, they ate it, because, as Loll put it, it _felt_ like
green stuff going down, anyway.

Ducks and geese flew over the Island so low that the sibilant sound of
their wings could be heard from the porch. Shane often tried to kill
one with a stone, but without success. He and Kayak Bill had long ago
used all the ammunition for their revolvers endeavoring to shoot
hair-seals off the south end. Shane's revolver finally disappeared
entirely. One day, however, after he had stood long by Ellen's bed, he
went out to the shed. Jean coming upon him there had found him
thoughtfully twirling the weapon on his finger--his trigger finger as
he had often called it. Although he announced that there were no more
cartridges for it the gi