ft crush of her hair, the touch
of her lips, the warm encircling of her arms about his neck. Closer to
him pressed the mystery, until the beating of her heart was a living
pulse against him; and then--suddenly, as an irresistible impulse closed
his arms to hold the spirit to him, his eyes were drawn to the heart
of the fire, and he saw there for an instant, wide-eyed and speaking to
him, the face of Yellow Bird the Indian sorceress. The flames crept up
the long braids of her hair, her lips moved, and then she was gone--but
slowly, like a ghost slipping upward into the mist of smoke and night.

Peter heard his master's cry. And after that Jolly Roger rose up and
threw off the blanket and walked back and forth until his feet trod a
path in the snow. He told himself it was madness to believe, and yet he
believed. Faith fought itself back into that dark citadel of his heart
from which for a time it had been driven. New courage lighted up again
the black chaos of his soul. And at last he fell down on his knees and
gripped Peter's shaggy head between his two hands.

"Pied-Bot, she said everything would come out right in the end," he
cried, a new note in his voice. "That's what Yellow Bird told us, wasn't
it? Mebby they would have burned her as a witch a long time ago because
she's a sorceress, and says she can send her soul out of her body and
see what we can't see. BUT WE BELIEVE!" His voice choked up, and he
laughed. "They were both here tonight," he added. "Nada--and Yellow
Bird. And I believe--I believe--I know what it means!"

He stood up again, and Peter saw the old smile on his master's lips as
Jolly Roger looked up into the swirling black canopy of the spruce-tops.
And the wailing of the storm seemed no longer to hold menace and taunt,
but in it he heard the whisper of fierce, strong voices urging upon him
the conviction that had already swept indecision from his heart.

And then he said, holding out his arms as if encompassing something
which he could not see.

"Peter, we're going back to Nada!"

Dawn was a scarcely perceptible thing when it came. Darkness seemed to
fade a little, that was all. Frosty shapes took form in the gloom,
and the spruce-tops became tangible in an abyss of sepulchral shadow
overhead.

Through this beginning of the barren-land day Jolly Roger set out in the
direction of his cabin and in his blood was that new singing thing of
fire and warmth that more than made up for the hours of slee