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He had saved others from the risk of handling the Adresol. Now he was called upon to pay for his self-sacrifice. In her silent, unquestioning fashion An-ina understood, and, for nearly two weeks, she watched and ministered to the man of her love with smiling-eyed devotion. Steve never admitted his condition, and An-ina never reminded him of it. That was their way.
Heart, mind, and body were absorbed in her faith. It was in the dead of night. An-ina stirred restlessly under the blankets which were those that once had covered the white mother of Marcel. In a moment she was wide awake, sitting up in the darkness, listening. The savage barking of the three old dogs, the only dogs now left in the compound behind the fort, had roused her from sleep.
Leave him Marcel an' this Keeko. All mak' big weep. Oh, yes." Steve's eyes smiled gently. He came over to the woman's side. One hand, that seemed to have lost much of its muscular shape, rested gently on her shoulder. "Don't you just worry a thing, An-ina," he said. "Guess I know. When Marcel gets back I'll be around all right. I reckon to get through quick. That's why I work late into the night.
I was just getting mad thinking I was only fit for the open summer trail, chasing up pelts with a bunch of these doper neches. Oh, yes. It set me mad. And I told An-ina. I'm not a kid, Uncle. Guess I'm all the man I'll ever be, and I just want to get busy on a man's work. I can't stand for seeing you doing these things for me. You don't get younger.
His journey was in that treacherous time between the seasons, when the snow and ice would be rotting, and the latter part of his journey would find his winter equipment an added burden. Then he had set out. An-ina watched his great figure move away with joy and pride thrilling her heart.
Maybe she all kill dead too. Yes? An-ina love Missis. Love her much. She no hurt Missis. So she not say. Oh, no." The searching eyes of Steve never left the woman's dusky face for a moment. They were boring their way to pierce the unemotional exterior for the truth that lay behind. "Say, just stop right there," he commanded. "I need to get this right.
Marcel's brows drew sharply together in alarm at the prospect she painted for him. Then, after a moment, he passed a hand across his forehead as though to brush his fears aside. "But Uncle Steve's not back yet," he said, as though the fact clinched all argument finally. An-ina, however, had no intention of accepting any such finality. She shook her head. "That all so. Oh, yes," she said.
They were kind of mad with me getting back late. I had to rawhide two of them, or the whole darn lot would have bolted. You see, I was held up." An-ina would have questioned further but there was no encouragement in Marcel's tone or manner. He had not turned to reply. His attitude was one the squaw recognized. He wanted to think.
He knew it would be an act of the basest ingratitude and selfishness. Uncle Steve had not yet returned. He could not return for weeks yet. If he, Marcel, yielded to his desires An-ina must be left alone. His impatience was useless. He knew that. The Sleepers would awaken soon, and demand their trade. He could not fling the burden of it all on the willing shoulders of An-ina. He must wait.
His mood was what she desired. "No. Marcel say the thing that please him. An-ina listen." Marcel laughed. He had come home with the treasure hugged tight to his bosom. He had promised himself that this was his secret, to be imparted to no one not even to Uncle Steve. An-ina had demanded that he should speak as he desired, and he knew that his one desire was to talk of Keeko.
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