that
Josephine had not painted it as blackly as she might. She, at least,
had seemed to see a ray of hope. Jean saw none, and Philip realized
that the half-breed's calm and unheated judgment was more to be
reckoned with than hers. At the same time, he did not feel dismayed. He
was of the sort who have born in them the fighting instinct, And with
this instinct, which is two thirds of life's battle won, goes the sort
of optimism that has opened up raw worlds to the trails of men. Without
the one the other cannot exist.

As the blows of his axe cut deep into the birch, Philip knew that so
long as there is life and freedom and a sun above it is impossible for
hope to become a thing of char and ash. He did not use logic. He simply
LIVED! He was alive, and he loved Josephine.

The muscles of his arms were like sinews of rawhide. Every fibre in his
body was strung with a splendid strength. His brain was as clear as the
unpolluted air that drifted over the cedar and spruce. And now to these
tremendous forces had come the added strength of the most wonderful
thing in the world: love of a woman. In spite of all that Josephine and
Jean had said, in spite of all the odds that might be against him, he
was confident of winning whatever fight might be ahead of him.

He not only felt confident, but cheerful. He did not try to make Jean
understand what it meant to be in camp with the company of a woman for
the first time in two years. Long after the tents were up and the
birch-fire was crackling cheerfully in the darkness Josephine still
remained in her tent. But the mere fact that she was there lifted
Philip's soul to the skies.

And Josephine, with a blanket drawn about her shoulders, lay in the
thick gloom of her tent and listened to him. His far-reaching,
exuberant whistling seemed to warm her. She heard him laughing and
talking with Jean, whose voice never came to her; farther back, where
he was cutting down another birch, she heard him shout out the words of
a song between blows; and once, sotto voce, and close to her tent, she
quite distinctly heard him say "Damn!" She knew that he had stumbled
with an armful of wood, and for the first time in that darkness and her
misery she smiled. That one word alone Philip had not intended that she
should hear. But when it was out he picked himself up and laughed.

He did not meddle with Jean's cook-fire, but he built a second fire
where the cheer of it would light up Josephine's tent,