g a long time at the sun-kissed sea. The fifth day, with the
Indian's help, he took a walk on the beach. What he thought of the
situation Ellen and Jean had no means of knowing, but as they watched
him rapidly regaining his old arrogant manner, vague fears crept
insiduously into their minds. At the end of the week he was issuing
his orders to Swimming Wolf with all the ease and certainty of one in
supreme command.

One afternoon Ellen sat on the porch trying to piece together the
remnants of a little shirt for Loll. Jean and the boy were off with
Swimming Wolf gathering food. The White Chief had gone to his room
some time before. Ellen's heart was heavy with anxiety for her
husband. If he were alive, he should by now have returned to her. If
he were dead. . . . For some minutes she was oblivious to all about
her as she strove to thrust this thought from her mind. The incipient
menace of the White Chief's presence hovered about her, though so far
he had never by word or look betrayed any sentimental interest in her
since his advent on the Island. Perhaps by now, she told herself
hopefully, time and his illness had changed him for the better.
Perhaps----

Something caused her to turn her head toward the cabin door back of
her. Against the portal stood the White Chief. His hand was hooked
beneath his scarlet belt in the old familiar manner. His narrow, pale
eyes were fastened upon her in a way she had known in Katleean. She
felt suddenly that he had taken in every detail of her appearance--her
heavy braided hair, her worn and faded blouse, her short ragged skirt,
and her feet incased in home-made moccasins of canvas. She felt a rush
of hot blood rising to her hair. He noted it and smiled, his sardonic,
thin-lipped smile. The peculiar warmth that crept into his eyes caused
Ellen's heart to contract with a realization of appalling
possibilities. A small, inward panic took possession of her.

She rose abruptly and ran swiftly up the hillside trail to the Lookout.
She knew now that she was not dealing with a sick man. She and her
sister were practically at the mercy of Paul Kilbuck.

She resolved to keep her suspicions from Jean as long as possible, but
that evening as they were sitting together in the living-room, after
Lollie had climbed into bed, the girl kept glancing apprehensively
toward the closed door that shut off the sleeping place of the trader.

"Ellen," she said, hardly above a whisper. "