elf as she told them, but Gordon did
not laugh at her.

Everything she did was for him divinely done. Even when his eyes were on
the dark trail ahead he saw only the dusky loveliness of curved cheek,
the face luminous with a radiance some women are never privileged to
know, the rhythm of head and body and slender legs that was part of her
individual, heaven-sent charm.

The rest had finished supper before Gordon and Sheba reached camp, but
Mrs. Olson had a hot meal waiting for them.

"I fixed up the tent for the women folks--stove, sleeping-bags, plenty
of wood. Touch a match to the fire and it'll be snug as a bug in a rug,"
explained Swiftwater to Gordon.

Elliot and Sheba were to start early for Kusiak and later the rescue
party would arrive to take care of Holt and Mrs. Olson.

"Time to turn in," Holt advised. "You better light that stove, Elliot."

The young man was still in the tent arranging the sleeping-bags when
Sheba entered. He tried to walk out without touching her, intending to
call back his good-night. But he could not do it. There was something
flamey about her to-night that went to his head. Her tender, tremulous
little smile and the turn of the buoyant little head stirred in him a
lover's rhapsody.

"It's to be a long trail we cover to-morrow, Sheba. You must sleep.
Good-night."

"Good-night--Gordon."

There was a little flash of audacity in the whimsical twist of her
mouth. It was the first time she had ever called him by his given name.

Elliot threw away prudence and caught her by the hands.

"My dear--my dear!" he cried.

She trembled to his kiss, gave herself to his embrace with innocent
passion. Tendrils of hair, fine as silk, brushed his cheeks and sent
strange thrills through him.

They talked the incoherent language of lovers that is compounded of
murmurs and silences and the touch of lips and the meetings of eyes.
There were to be other nights in their lives as rich in memories as
this, but never another with quite the same delight.

Presently Sheba reminded him with a smile of the long trail he had
mentioned. Mrs. Olson bustled into the tent, and her presence stressed
the point.

"Good-night, neighbors," Gordon called back from outside the tent.

Sheba's "Good-night" echoed softly back to him.

The girl fell asleep to the sound of the light breeze slapping the tent
and to the doleful howling of the huskies.

CHAPTER XXVIII

A MESSAGE FROM THE DEAD

Macdonald