ed.

"Nay, O Keesh," she laughed. "It may be that thou wast not born to
wear it."

"Give it me!" he reiterated, without change of tone. "I was so born."

But her eyes, glancing coquettishly past him to the moosehide, saw the
snow about it slowly reddening. "It is blood, Keesh?" she asked.

"Ay, it is blood. But give me the belt and the long Russian knife."

She felt suddenly afraid, but thrilled when he took the belt roughly
from her, thrilled to the roughness. She looked at him softly, and was
aware of a pain at the breast and of small hands clutching her throat.

"It was made for a smaller man," he remarked grimly, drawing in his
abdomen and clasping the buckle at the first hole.

Su-Su smiled, and her eyes were yet softer. Again she felt the soft
hands at her throat. He was good to look upon, and the belt was indeed
small, made for a smaller man; but what did it matter? She could make
many belts.

"But the blood?" she asked, urged on by a hope new-born and growing.
"The blood, Keesh? Is it ... are they ... heads?"

"Ay."

"They must be very fresh, else would the blood be frozen."

"Ay, it is not cold, and they be fresh, quite fresh."

"Oh, Keesh!" Her face was warm and bright. "And for me?"

"Ay; for thee."

He took hold of a corner of the hide, flirted it open, and rolled the
heads out before her.

"Three," he whispered savagely; "nay, four at least."

But she sat transfixed. There they lay--the soft-featured Nee-Koo; the
gnarled old face of Gnob; Makamuk, grinning at her with his lifted
upper lip; and lastly, Nossabok, his eyelid, up to its old trick,
drooped on his girlish cheek in a suggestive wink. There they lay, the
firelight flashing upon and playing over them, and from each of them a
widening circle dyed the snow to scarlet.

Thawed by the fire, the white crust gave way beneath the head of Gnob,
which rolled over like a thing alive, spun around, and came to rest at
her feet. But she did not move. Keesh, too, sat motionless, his eyes
unblinking, centred steadfastly upon her.

Once, in the forest, an overburdened pine dropped its load of snow,
and the echoes reverberated hollowly down the gorge; but neither
stirred. The short day had been waning fast, and darkness was wrapping
round the camp when White Fang trotted up toward the fire. He paused
to reconnoitre, but not being driven back, came closer. His nose shot
swiftly to the side, nostrils a-tremble and bristles rising along the
spine