w her thoughts were far away as she basked in the warmth of the
stove. They were upon the coming spring, the opening river, upon the old
moose head set up to watch for her coming, and--upon Marcel.

Once she turned her head, and into her pretty eyes there crept a look
which was almost of disquiet. The man's dark head and bearded face were
bent over the sheet of paper upon which he was scratching with a stub of
pencil. There was a small heap of paper money beside him. There was also
a largish glass of raw rye whisky, from which he frequently drank. It
was the sight of this latter that caused the girl's look of disquiet. It
was the second drink in less than half an hour. She turned away with an
added feeling of repugnance, and she reckoned again the number of weeks
that must pass before her freedom came.

It was at the moment of her turning back to the stove that the
scratching of the pencil ceased. The man looked up, and his bold smiling
eyes were turned upon the girl. He drained his glass noisily while his
eyes remained upon the pretty buckskin-clad figure that so lewdly
attracted him. There was nothing pleasant in the smile. And the glazing
of his eyes was that of excessive alcoholism, and primitive, animal
passion. He was unobserved, and he knew there was no need to disguise
his feelings.

After a while he crushed the pile of paper money into a hip pocket, and
helped himself liberally to more of the spirit.

"It's pretty darn good," he said abruptly, with an appreciative smack of
the lips under his curtain of whiskers.

"You mean--?" Keeko did not look round.

"Why, the price." Nicol laughed harshly.

Keeko heard him drink. She heard him gasp with the scorch of the liquor
passing down his throat. She waited.

The man moved round and came across to the stove. His gait was unsteady
and Keeko was aware of it. She hated, and well-nigh feared the proximity
of a man who drugged himself with alcohol on every pretext and at every
opportunity.

"Say, you've done well, kid," Nicol exclaimed, with coarse familiarity,
and with the intention of conciliation. "Sixteen hundred dollars for
those pelts? Gee! You surely must have set Lorson hating you bad."

Keeko was torn by emotions she was powerless to check as she desired.
She knew this man for all he was. She knew that he was little better
than a savage animal, and, at moments, when alcohol had completed its
work, was something even more to be feared.

Of the sober sa