he water fresh dipped from the river whose banks were a-flood
in every direction. Was not the darkness of winter swallowed up by the
brilliant sunlight? Was not the child of her heart trudging manfully at
her side, firmly grasping the bucket handle in a vain belief in the
measure of his help? Was not the moment rapidly approaching, when the
white man officer would return with the young men of the Sleepers from
the "deep place" by the "big waters?" Would not the day soon come when
the trail to the southlands would again be broken? And would she not
gaze once more upon the pleasant lands that gave her birth? Oh, yes. She
knew. It was a great rush to the promised home, far from the desperate
life on the plateau of Unaga, with the child, whose dancing eyes and
happy smile were like a ray of sunshine amidst the shadows of her life.

Morning and night, now, An-ina looked for the return of those who had
set out before the break of the winter. A month had passed since Steve's
going. She was quite alone with her boy, with the wakened Indians
preparing for their labours of the open season. The "white man officer"
would return. An-ina had no fear for him even on the winter trail of
Unaga. He would return, and then--and then--And so she watched and
waited, and worked with all the will of her simple, savage heart.

It was no easy task that lay ahead. An-ina knew that. Steve had told her
much during those dark days of winter. He had spoken of a thousand
miles. What was a mile? She did not know. A sun. A moon. These things
she knew. But his tone she understood. And she knew what he meant when
he declared his intention of beating schedule, and his determination not
to spend another winter on Unaga if it were the last trail he ever made.
She was ready. And, in her simple woman's way she beguiled the days of
waiting with speculation as to the white woman who had inspired in this
white man's heart so great a desire.

Life was more than good to An-ina just now. She was young. She was
thrilling with the wild emotions of her untamed blood. She was an Indian
of the finest ancestry, but more than all she was a devoted woman. She
had lost a mistress whom she had loved, and a master whom she had been
glad to serve. She had found one to take their places, one whose first
act had been his re-assurance that she should not be robbed of the
child who was her all. There was no one greater in all the world to her
than the "white man officer" whose cou