abandoned his nurse for the object of his
new worship.

"Us makes life-line," he panted, scrambling up the snow-drift. "Boy fix
it all a way through the forest to 'Sleeper' men."

Steve reached out a helping hand, and hauled the little fellow up to his
side.

"Ah. I was guessing that way," he said. "And An-ina was helping boy,
eh?"

"Oh, 'ess. An-ina help. An-ina always help boy. And boy help Uncle
Steve."

Steve led the way down. An-ina was waiting with smiling patience.

"Setting out a line to the Sleepers' camp?" he said, as they reached the
woman's side.

An-ina nodded and began to coil the ropes afresh.

"It much good," she said. "Bimeby it storm plenty. So. Each day An-ina
mak headman hut. When him wake then white man officer go mak big talk.
Storm, it not matter nothin'. No."

"Fine," Steve agreed warmly. "You're a good squaw, An-ina."

His approval had instant effect.

"Him good? An-ina glad," she observed contentedly.

An-ina moved on towards the forest bearing her burden of ropes, paying
out the line as she went.

Steve watched her, his steady eyes full of profound thought.

"Us helps An-ina, Uncle Steve?" enquired the boy doubtfully.

The man had almost forgotten the mitted hand he was still clasping. Now
he looked down into the up-turned, enquiring eyes.

"I don't guess An-ina needs us for awhile," he said. Then, after a
pause: "No," he added. "Boy's worked hard--very hard. Maybe we'll go
back to the fort. And--Uncle tell boy a story? Eh?"

Steve had no need to wait for the torrent of verbal appreciation that
came. The boy's delight at the prospect was instant. So they forthwith
abandoned the snow-drifts for the warm interior of the store.

Their furs removed, Steve settled himself on the bench which stood
before the stove. The room was shadowed by the twilight outside, but he
did not light a lamp. There was oil enough for their needs in the
stores, but eventualities had to be considered, and rigid economy in all
things was necessary.

The picture was complete. The dimly lit store, with its traffic counter
deserted, and its shelves sadly depleted of trade. The staunch,
plastered and lime-washed walls, which revealed the stress of climate in
the gaping cracks that were by no means infrequent. The hard-beaten
earth floor swept clean. The glowing stove that knew no attention from
the cleaner's brush. Then the two figures on the rough bench, which was
worn and polished by long years of u