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Updated: June 17, 2025
Where Hubert Stane's little tent had been the willows now showed an unbroken line, and he found that fact a source of satisfaction. Then between the willows he caught sight of a moving figure, and after one glance at it, began to hurry forward.
The long day drew to its close and the camp they sought had not appeared; nor had any search-party materialized. As they pitched camp for the night, the doubt which all day had been in Stane's mind became a certainty. "I am afraid we have made a mistake, Miss Yardely. You must have come down the other river.
I guess you must be prospecting?" "I have done a little," agreed Stane, a touch of reserve in his manner. "A lonely job!" commented the factor. "Yes," was Stane's reply, then he nodded and turned towards the door. The factor watched him go with frowning eyes, then turned to his assistant. "Not a very sociable sort, hey, Donald?" The assistant grinned, and shook his head. "Tongue-tied, I guess."
And little wad it avail them; for an if they had me there wi' a stane's weight o' iron at every ankle, I would show them a toom room and a lost lodger before to-morrow But come on, what stint ye for?" As he spoke thus, he tapped at a low wicket, and was answered by a sharp voice, as of one awakened from a dream or reverie, "Fa's tat?
They had now arrived at the tepees and as they halted, the flap of one was thrown aside, and Miskodeed emerged. She did not see them, as the moment she stepped into the open air her eyes turned towards the willows where Stane's camp had been. A look of sadness clouded the wild beauty of her face, and there was a poignant light in her eyes. "Ah!" whispered Helen Yardely.
"You are trying to scare me because I'm a tenderfoot," she retorted with a laugh that was like music in Stane's ears; "but I won't be scared." She resumed her song with a gay air of bravado; passing from one chanty to another in a voice fluty as a blackbird. Stane smiled to himself.
I do not know, for I do not, cannot trust you; but I will never forgive you for what the man I loved suffered. Never!" "You believe some lying tale of Stane's?" said Ainley, in a sneering attempt to cover up his own discomfiture. "I believe what he told me; I would have believed it on his word alone, but fortunately the matter does not depend on that word only.
The words penetrated Stane's consciousness as he opened his eyes, and were followed by others which he obeyed instinctively. "Tak' anoder drink. Zee whisky veel vake you proper." He gulped from the tin pannikin which was held to his lips, and coughed as the raw, potent spirit burned his throat. Then he sat up and looked at the man who was befriending him. "Who ... who are you?" he asked weakly.
She rested against him well-content, and Stane's arm about her tightened its grip; then they came back to the little world about them, at the sound of the policeman's voice. "Didn't know me, Ainley? I dare say not. I'm not quite the tailor's mannikin that I was in the old days at the 'Varsity. Got a man's job now, you see. And that reminds me, I'm here on duty.
She could not endure it, and she began fiercely to do a totally unnecessary task in the hope of driving it from her. That was impossible, and after a minute or two she seated herself in front of the stove and stared into its glow with eyes that flashed with mingled anger and pain, the while she awaited Stane's return.
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