er stateroom and sat down on the berth.
Presently she opened the envelope. There was a thick fold of bills,
her ticket, and both were wrapped in a sheet of paper penciled with
dots and crooked lines. She laid it aside and counted the money.

"Heavens!" she whispered. "I wish he hadn't given me so much. I
didn't need all that."

For Roaring Bill had tucked a dozen one-hundred-dollar notes in the
envelope. And, curiously enough, she was not offended, only wishful
that he had been less generous. Twelve hundred dollars was a lot of
money, far more than she needed, and she did not know how she could
return it. She sat a long time with the money in her lap, thinking.
Then she took up the map, recognizing it as the sheet of paper Bill had
worked over so long their last night at the cabin.

It made the North more clear--a great deal more clear--to her, for he
had marked Cariboo Meadows, the location of his cabin, and Bella Coola,
and drawn dotted lines to indicate the way he had taken her in and
brought her out. The Fraser and its tributaries, some of the crossings
that she remembered were sketched in, the mountains and the lakes by
which his trail had wound.

"I wonder if that's a challenge to my vindictive disposition?" she
murmured. "I told him so often that I'd make him sweat for his
treachery if ever I got a chance. Ah well--"

She put away the money and the map, and bestowed a brief scrutiny upon
herself in the cabin mirror. Six months in the wild had given her a
ruddy color, the glow of perfect physical condition. But her garments
were tattered and sadly out of date. The wardrobe of the steamer-trunk
lady had suffered in the winter's wear. She was barely presentable in
the outing suit of corduroy. So that she was inclined to be diffident
about her appearance, and after a time when she was not thinking of the
strange episodes of the immediate past, her mind, womanlike, began to
dwell on civilization and decent clothes.

The _Stanley D._ bore down Bentick Arm and on through Burke Channel to
the troubled waters of Queen Charlotte Sound, where the blue Pacific
opens out and away to far Oriental shores. After that she plowed south
between Vancouver Island and the rugged foreshores where the Coast
Range dips to the sea, past pleasant isles, and through narrow passes
where the cliffs towered sheer on either hand, and, upon the evening of
the third day, she turned into Burrard Inlet and swept across a harbo