m, and Catharine's strange
wild heart rejoiced to find him, yet hid the child from him for
very fear of losing it out of her own life.

After finding it almost dead in its dead mother's arms on the
shore, the Indians had given it to Catharine for the reason that
she could speak some English. They were only a passing band of
Kootenays, and as they journeyed on and on, week in and week out,
they finally came to Crow's Nest Mountain. Here the child fell ill,
so they built Catharine a log shack, and left her with plenty of
food, sufficient to last until the railway gang had worked that
far up the Pass, when more food would be available. When she had
finished the strange history, Wingate looked at her long and
lovingly.

"Catharine," he said, "you were almost going to fight me once
to-day. You stood between the couch and me like a panther. What
changed you so that you led me to my baby girl yourself?"

"I make one last fight to keep her," she said, haltingly. "She mine
so long, I want her; I want her till I die. Then I think many
times I see your face at camp. It look like sky when sun does not
shine--all cloud, no smile, no laugh. I know you think of your baby
then. Then I watch you many times. Then after while my heart is
sick for you, like you are my own boy, like I am your own mother. I
hate see no sun in your face. I think I not good mother to you; if
I was good mother I would give you your child; make the sun come in
your face. To-day I make last fight to keep the child. She's mine so
long, I want her till I die. Then somet'ing in my heart say, 'He's
like son to you, as if he your own boy; make him glad--happy. Oh,
ver' glad! Be like his own mother. Find him his baby.'"

"Bless the mother heart of her!" growled the big foreman, frowning
to keep his face from twitching.

It was twilight when they mounted the horses one of the men had
brought up for them to ride home on, Wingate with his treasure-child
hugged tightly in his arms. Words were powerless to thank the woman
who had saved half his world for him. His voice choked when he
tried, but she understood, and her woman's heart was very, very
full.

Just as they reached the rim of the canyon Wingate turned and
looked back. His arms tightened about little Margie as his eyes
rested on Catharine--as once before she was standing in the
doorway, alone; alone, and above and about her were the purple
shadows, the awful solitude of Crow's Nest Mountain.

"Brown!" he