s--that Kazan left us here? _She_ was on the sand over there,
calling to him. Do you remember?" There was a little tremble about her
mouth, and she added, "I wonder--where they--have gone."

The cabin was as they had left it. Only the crimson _bakneesh_ had grown
up about it, and shrubs and tall grass had sprung up near its walls.
Once more it took on life, and day by day the color came deeper into
Joan's cheeks, and her voice was filled with its old wild sweetness of
song. Joan's husband cleared the trails over his old trap-lines, and
Joan and the little Joan, who romped and talked now, transformed the
cabin into _home_. One night the man returned to the cabin late, and
when he came in there was a glow of excitement in Joan's blue eyes, and
a tremble in her voice when she greeted him.

"Did you hear it?" she asked. "Did you hear--_the call_?"

He nodded, stroking her soft hair.

"I was a mile back in the creek swamp," he said. "I heard it!"

Joan's hands clutched his arms.

"It wasn't Kazan," she said. "I would recognize _his_ voice. But it
seemed to me it was like the other--the call that came that morning from
the sand-bar, his _mate_?"

The man was thinking. Joan's fingers tightened. She was breathing a
little quickly.

"Will you promise me this?" she asked, "Will you promise me that you
will never hunt or trap for wolves?"

"I had thought of that," he replied. "I thought of it--after I heard the
call. Yes, I will promise."

Joan's arms stole up about his neck.

"We loved Kazan," she whispered. "And you might kill him--or _her_"

Suddenly she stopped. Both listened. The door was a little ajar, and to
them there came again the wailing mate-call of the wolf. Joan ran to the
door. Her husband followed. Together they stood silent, and with tense
breath Joan pointed over the starlit plain.

"Listen! Listen!" she commanded. "It's her cry, _and it came from the
Sun Rock_!"

She ran out into the night, forgetting that the man was close behind her
now, forgetting that little Joan was alone in her bed. And to them, from
miles and miles across the plain, there came a wailing cry in answer--a
cry that seemed a part of the wind, and that thrilled Joan until her
breath broke in a strange sob.

Farther out on the plain she went and then stopped, with the golden glow
of the autumn moon and the stars shimmering in her hair and eyes. It was
many minutes before the cry came again, and then it was so near that
Joan p