a bit of steep slide she leaned forward
and became a part of the bear's back, her curls shimmering in the thick
ruff of Tara's neck. As he toiled upward in their wake, he caught a
glimpse of her looking back at him from the top of the slide, her eyes
shining and her lips smiling at him. She reminded him of something he
had read about Leucosia, his favorite of the "Three Sirens," only in
this instance it was a siren of the mountains and not of the sea that
was leading him on to an early doom--if he had to keep up with that
bear! His breath came more quickly. In ten minutes he was gasping for
wind, and in despair he slackened his pace as the bear and his rider
disappeared over the crest of the first slope. She was waving at him
then, fully two hundred yards up that infernal hill, and he was sure
that she was laughing. He had almost reached the top when he saw her
sitting in the shade of a rock, watching him as he toiled upward. There
was a mischievous seriousness in the blue of her eyes when he reached
her side.

"I'm sorry, _Sakewawin_," she said, lowering her eyes until they were
hidden under the silken sheen of her long lashes, "I couldn't make Tara
go slowly. He is hungry, and he knows that he is going home."

"And I thought you had sore feet," he managed to say.

"I don't ride him going _down_ a mountain," she explained, thrusting out
her ragged little feet. "I can't hang on, and I slip over his head. You
must walk ahead of Tara. That will hold him back."

He tried this experiment when they continued their ascent, and Tara
followed so uncomfortably close that at times David could feel his warm
breath against his hand. When they reached the second slope the girl
walked beside him. For a half mile it was not a bad climb and there was
soft grass underfoot. After that came the rock and shale, and the air
grew steadily colder. They had started at one o'clock and it was five
when they reached the first snow. It was six when they stood at the
summit. Under them lay the valley of the Firepan, a broad, sun-filled
sweep of scattered timber and green plain, and the girl pointed into it,
north and west.

"Off there is the Nest," she said. "We could almost see it if it weren't
for that big, red mountain."

She was very tired, though she had ridden Tara at least two thirds of
the distance up the mountains. In her eyes was the mistiness of
exhaustion, and as a chill wind swept about them she leaned against
David, and he coul