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He dallied with the thought for a little time, and then dismissed it. Ainley was afraid of him and shrank from meeting him, but he would hardly go to such lengths as Miskodeed's statement implied; nor would he involve Helen Yardely's life in the extreme risk incidental to an attack in force on the cabin. It was unthinkable! His mind sought other explanations.
Ten seconds later the man who carried the law through the frozen North was ahead of his sled, breaking the trail, and Stane and Helen had turned in the direction of their cabin, the girl with one last glance over her shoulder at the tepee, at the opening of which Miskodeed's beautiful face had now revealed itself, her eyes following the man whom once she had done her best to help.
There were three Indians in the canoe, one of whom he recognized for Miskodeed's father, and after lying for a few minutes wondering what was the meaning of the situation in which he found himself he addressed himself to the Indian: "What is the meaning of this?" The Indian stared at him like a graven image, but vouchsafed no reply.
She must have guessed that he loved Helen; yet in the greatness of her love, she had risked her life without hope, and died for him without shrinking. He began to walk to and fro, instinctively fighting the cold, with all his mind absorbed in Miskodeed's little tragedy; but presently the thought of Helen came to him, and he walked quickly to where Jean Bènard still knelt in the snow.
His first impulse was to go away, then seeing Ainley among the little knot of people, he decided to remain, and to serve his own end, kept Miskodeed in conversation, as when left to herself she would have fled to the moose-hide tent. The party drew nearer. Stane was conscious of its attention, and the blood in Miskodeed's face came and went in a manner that was almost painful.
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