dirge, these primitive things hidden in the dust of the past
might be revealed to her! Suddenly she became aware that one of the
tall figures had stopped in the trail beside her pile of driftwood. In
a tone singularly pleasing he was humming the air of the funeral
lament, fitfully, experimentally at first, then as the haunting
monotony of the strain became familiar, with a certain easy confidence.
Jean forgot to be afraid. Almost unconsciously she found herself
humming in unison with the motionless figure. Even when the man faced
her and she saw in the dim light, not an Indian, but the young white
man, Gregg Harlan, she did not cease. She was conscious of a feeling
of companionship. Night had gilded the wilderness with a primordial
beauty and made her kin to all earth's creatures. She moved slowly
from her pile of driftwood and stood beside him for a moment in the
trail watching the incoming canoes. It was a moment of simplicity and
unconsciousness of self such as might have been in the dawn of
civilization when conventions were unknown. She hummed, cradling in
her heart impressions of the night so that later she might awaken them
through the music of her violin. The man in the trail continued his
wordless song. . . .

The crunching of leather soles on the gravel behind them startled Jean.
She and her companion turned simultaneously to find themselves face to
face with the trader of Katleean.

"Well, well!" The sarcastic voice of the White Chief shattered the
sweet, wild moment like an invidious thing. "You two seem to be
getting uncommonly friendly!" His red lip lifted on one side into a
cynical smile that suddenly infuriated Jean, implying, as it did, that
he had caught the two young people in a compromising situation. She
took a hasty step toward him, looking with fearless eyes into his face.

"How dare you slip up behind us this way!" she flashed, stamping her
foot and flinging out her hands in a short, angry gesture. A moment
longer she looked at him as if he were an object of scorn, then turning
to the young man, said quietly: "Good night, Mr. Harlan."

The next instant she was walking up the dusky trail to the post.

Kilbuck watched her go. Accustomed to commanding all situations at
Katleean, he was for the moment nonplused by the quickness and
vehemence of the girl's retort, rather than by what she had said. He
had expected to place the two at a disadvantage. Finding the tables
turned, a m