clusion
in some snowy corral farther north--and bears were enjoying their
five or six months' nap beneath cozy tree-roots and five or six
feet of snow. Caribou, always hard hunting, unless "mired" in deep
snow, were few and far between.

The only real source of fresh food was the lake, where a number of
men were constantly employed fishing through the ice. And even this
was unsatisfactory, because a considerable amount was needed to
keep so many men and dogs supplied. There was, however, an air of
contentment and satisfaction in the camp, and the men waited
patiently, though hungrily, for the arrival of the trains from
the south.

When the commissary had left him, Charley Seguis's brow clouded
with annoyance as he saw a bent, wizened female figure approaching
him. The only woman In the camp, old Maria, had not fallen into
obscurity for a moment. She always wanted something, and haggled
and nagged until she got it. Seguis, the sterling white blood
ascendant in him, could not always find the pride for her in his
heart that a mother might wish of her son. Now, she fawned upon
him and whined.

"Are you a man or a stick," she complained, "that you let the blood
of your brother go unavenged? It's nearly three weeks since some
coward shot him, and you haven't made a move to find the guilty
man."

"Nor will I, until the business here is settled," Seguis retorted,
in a tone of finality. "Do you expect me to leave this camp when
the traders are expected, and go on some wild-goose chase out of
personal revenge? For my part, I think Tom would have been sorrowed
over a little more if he hadn't been such a fool. Why he went
gunning for McTavish out of pure spite, I don't see. We need every
man we can get in this camp."

Seguis was a remarkably fine-looking half-breed. He had the proud
carriage and graceful movements of the Indian, combined with the
bright eyes and more attractively shaped head of a Caucasian. His
hair was smooth and black, but lacked the coarseness of his mother's
race, while his brain and method of thinking were wholly that of
his father. With this endowment there had come to him, early in
life, an aspiration to rise above his own sort, a desire to be a
thorough white man. And in this he had always been supported by
his mother, who, knowing her past, carried in her heart bitterness
fully the equal of Angus Fitzpatrick's. It was only when her elder
son had reached manhood, and bore easily, as by right, the m