s and a tiny white-brown hand appeared
holding a dripping tin cup. She bent closer and the next instant the
man's burning cheek was pillowed against the soft coolness of her bared
arm and his head was raised from the blanket while the tiny white-brown
hand held the tin cup to his lips.

With the life-giving draft the man's brain cleared and he smiled into
the eyes of his dream-girl. Her lips returned the smile and there was a
movement of the rounded arm that pillowed his head.

"No! No!" he whispered, and pressed his cheek closer against the soft,
bare flesh. The arm was not withdrawn, the liquid eyes gazed for a
moment into his and were veiled by the swift downsweep of the long,
dark lashes.

In the silence, a little white-brown hand strayed over his face and
rested with delicious coolness upon the fevered brow. Bill's eyes
closed and for blissful eons he lay, while in all the world was no such
thing as pain--only the sweet, restful peace of Dreamland.

Unconsciously his lips pressed close against the softness of her arm,
and at their touch the arm trembled, and from far away came the quick,
sibilant gasp of an indrawn breath.

The arm pressed closer, the tapering fingers of the little hand strayed
caressingly through the tangled curls of his hair, and Bill Carmody
slipped silently into the quiet of oblivion.

The fire under the iron kettle died down, and the shadows faded from
the walls of the tepee. Inside, the girl sat far into the night, and
the mystery of the dark eyes deepened as they gazed into the bearded
face close pillowed against her arm.

By the dying fire the old crone drew her blanket more closely about her
and glowered into the red embers as her beady, black eyes shot keen
glances toward the motionless forms in the blackness beyond the open
flap of the tepee.

On Blood River the logs floated steadily millward, the bateau followed
the drive, and the men of the logs passed noisily out of the North.

CHAPTER XXVIII

A PROPHECY

In the gray of the morning Jacques Lacombie returned to his lodge to
find Wa-ha-ta-na-ta seated in front of the tepee staring into the dead
ashes of the fire.

In answer to his rough questioning she arose stiffly, stalked to the
open flap of the lodge and, standing aside, pointed mutely to the
silent figures within.

Both slept. The fever-flushed face of the man pillowed upon the bare
arm of the girl, whose body had settled wearily forward until her head,
wi