had
become so precious to him.

* * * * *

For all the nights were almost interminable, and the days so desperately
short time passed rapidly. It was nearly three weeks later that the
patient, indefatigable An-ina brought the word Steve awaited.

The daylight had passed, engulfed by the Arctic night which had added a
dull, misty moon to its splendid illumination. The temperature had
risen. Steve knew a change was coming. The signs were all too plain. He
knew that the period of peace had nearly run its course, and the
elements were swiftly mobilizing for a fresh attack.

He was standing in the great gateway considering these things when
An-ina came to him. She appeared abruptly over the top of the great
snow-drift, which had been driven against the angle of the stockade. The
soft "pad" of her moccasined feet first drew his attention, and
immediately all thought of the coming storm passed from his mind.

"Him big chief wake all up," she announced urgently, as she reached his
side.

"Did you speak to him?"

The man's enquiry was sharpened by responsive eagerness. The squaw
nodded.

"An-ina say, 'Boss white man officer come mak big talk with big chief,
Wanak-aha. Him look for dead white man by the big water. Yes.' Him big
chief say, 'White man officer? Him not know this man. Who?' An-ina say
much--plenty. Big chief all go mad. Oh, much angry. Then An-ina mak big
talk plenty. She say, 'Big Chief not mak big talk, then boss white man
officer of Great White Chief come kill up all Indian man.' Big chief
very old. Him all 'fraid. Him shake all over like so as seal fat. Much
scare. Oh, yes." She laughed in her silent fashion. "So him say, 'Boss
white man officer come, then Big Chief Wanak-aha mak plenty big talk.'
Then him sleep. Oh, yes."

The woman's amusement at the chief's panic was infectious. Steve smiled.

"I guess we'll go right along," he said. Then he indicated the moon with
its misty halo. "Storm."

Again An-ina nodded.

"Him storm plenty--sure," she agreed. "Boss come quick?"

"Right away."

A moment later An-ina was leading the way up the long slope of the
snow-drift, returning over the tracks which her own moccasins had left.

* * * * *

The atmosphere of the hut was oppressive. It reeked with the smoke of
wood fire. It was nauseating with a dreadful human foulness. But over
all hung the sickly sweet odour of the Adresol drug, which o