ed that she was out on a "long trail" hunting, and that she
had found herself in this valley, with a snow-storm coming on. She had
seen the dugout and had sought its shelter, intending to remain there
until the storm had passed. She made it clear to them that a bull moose
and four cows had entered the valley. She had trailed them for many
days. She asked the brothers if, when the storm had passed, they would
join her in the hunt.

And to all she said Ralph replied in his less perfect signs, prompted by
Nick with blundering impetuosity; and, at the end of the parley, a
perfect harmony prevailed. Two great rough men, with hearts as simple
and trusting as those of infants, led this stranger into their home, and
made it clear that the place was hers for so long as she chose to accept
their hospitality.

A fire was kindled. A meal was cooked. The hut grew warm and comforting.
The dogs outside yelped pitifully and often snuffed angrily at the sill
of the door. And the White Squaw calmly accepted the throne of that
silent world, which had so long known only the joint rule of the two
brothers. She looked out upon her subjects with eyes which drove them
wild with adoration, but which said nothing but that which she chose to
convey. Nor did her features betray one single thought that might chance
to be passing in the brain behind. She wore an impenetrable mask of
reserve while she watched the effect of the womanly power she wielded.

And that night saw a change in the ordering of the trappers' household.
The two men talked it over after their meal. Ralph broached the subject.

He waved his arm, the bowl of his pipe gripped in his horny hand, while
its stem indicated the entire hut.

"Hers," he said. And his eyes were dragged from the object of his
solicitude and turned upon Nick.

His brother nodded as he puffed at his pipe.

"The shed," Ralph went on. "The huskies must burrow in the snow."

Again Nick nodded.

"Wants sweepin' some," observed Ralph again.

"Yup. We'll fix it."

"Best git to it."

"Ay."

And so the brothers moved out of their home, and went to live in the
place which had been given over to the dogs. They would have done more,
far more, in their love for the woman who had so strangely come into
their midst. They felt that it was little enough that they must lie
where the dogs were wont to herd. They needed little comfort, and she
must have the best they could give. And so the brothers moved out of