e barren foreshore. He beheld
the curl of smoke rising from a camp-fire. He knew that a meal was in
preparation. It was all as he understood such things, and its interest
for him was that it was the home of the girl who had so suddenly taken
possession of his life.

"Necessity," he said reflectively. "Guess I'm not just wise to things
like older folk. But it seems to me 'necessity' is the thing of all
things in life. It sort of seems the key that unlocks the meaning of
everything. It sets you chasing pelts to sell for dollars, and it leaves
their finding just the one thing worth while. If you got plenty food you
don't care two cents if you eat it or not. If you haven't, why the
thought of food sets you dreaming beautiful dreams of things you never
tasted, and maybe you'd hate anyway if folks handed them to you. If you
got a swell bed that's all set ready for you, maybe your fancy sets you
sleeping on the hard ground with just a blanket to cover you. If you
hadn't, then the thought of that darn blanket would likely set you crazy
to grab the other feller's. I come along out every season chasing pelts.
Seeing I don't need 'em it leaves me trailing a bull moose that hands me
a chance of getting to grips with the business of life an' death. Say,
give me 'necessity' all the time. It's the thing that makes men of the
folks you can make anything of at all, and, anyway, makes life a thing
to grab right up into your arms and hug so as if you never meant to let
go. Necessity for you--a girl--is just the thing that beats me. Why, the
men folk around you must be all sorts of everyday folk that wouldn't
matter a circumstance if the whole darn lot got lost in the fog of their
own notions, and were left to hand in their checks hollering for the
help they never fancied handing you."

There was hot indignation in the final denunciation. Keeko revelled in
his sympathy. She pondered a moment. Then a fresh impulse urged her.

"I was just wondering," she said, her gaze avoiding the figure standing
so heedlessly at the brink of the canyon, "I kind of feel I ought to
tell you of that necessity. Yet it's hard. As I said, there's secrets,
and if you start in to talk free north of 60 deg. you're liable to hand over
those secrets that belong to the folk who reckon they've the right to
impose them on all those belonging to them. I've no sort of secret of my
own. None at all. But I guess my step-father has. And that secret is the
reason that's bro