cate step they told her was
the "Bear Paw." Kayak Bill and the White Chief seemed buried in their
own thoughts. Ellen rose, looked about her a moment and then slipped
quietly out of the oval door into the cool, star-spangled night.

After the close air of the Potlatch-house, it was good to draw in the
freshness of the out-of-doors. The two tall totems framed a golden
naked moon that hung above the hills across the bay. The shimmering
path from its glow threw into silhouette the prows of the big canoes
drawn up on the beach. Ellen walked down the sandy path toward them.
Pausing she leaned against one and gazed idly out across the water.

For the moment the chanting of the natives had ceased, and the
drum-beats sounded muffled and soothing. Weird and lonely from a
distant ridge came the faint call of a wolf, presaging, though she did
not know it, an early winter. She became aware of the aromatic savors
of the wild--sea smells, the forest breath, the tang of camp-smokes.
She was beginning to like these things.

There was a sense of dream-like unreality about the night--about her
whole life at Katleean. Sometimes she caught herself marveling that
she was not more startled, more surprised at the new ways of life that
had come to her, for it is only the seasoned traveler in the little
known places of the world who ceases to marvel at the adaptability of
man to new and strange environment. Alaska, especially, Ellen thought,
seemed to work strange spells on those who came to dwell within her
borders. What would be considered melodramatic and foolish south of
53, became somehow, natural and fitting above the line.

Her drifting thoughts were suddenly checked by the sound of soft
footsteps in the sand behind her. She turned swiftly. Her dreamy,
contemplative mood changed to one closely akin to panic, as out of the
shadows tall and dominant in his Potlatch robes, the White Chief
stalked toward her.

She had no tangible reason for fearing to be alone with the trader of
Katleean, and she despised herself now for the impulse that urged her
to run as fast as she could from the man. Mentally upbraiding herself
for her foolishness she forced a smile of greeting and in her haste to
say something that would put the meeting on a commonplace basis, burst
out with the inane and obvious:

"Isn't it a beautiful night, Mr. Kilbuck?"

The White Chief stopped beside her and flung back the blanket from his
shoulder. There was