and free from snow.

The drizzling rain continued as the two stumbled forward, slipping and
splashing through deep pools of icy water. Each moment they were in
danger of plunging through some hole in the rotting ice; but the girl
pushed unhesitatingly onward, and the man followed.

Between them and the camp of Moncrossen lay upward of a hundred miles
of precarious river trail, and with no crust on the water-soaked snow
of the forest they could not take advantage of the short cuts which
would have stricken many miles from their journey.

It was broad daylight when Bill called a halt, and after many
unsuccessful attempts succeeded in kindling a sickly blaze in the
shelter of a clay-streaked cut-bank.

He unslung the pack which he had taken from the shoulders of the girl,
and removed some bacon and sodden bannock. As they toasted the bacon
and dried the bannock at the smoky fire the girl hardly removed her
gaze from the face of the big, silent man who, during the whole long
night, had scarcely spoken a word.

Her eyes flashed as they traveled over the mighty breadth of him and
noted the great muscular arms, the tight-clamped jaw, and the steely
glint of the narrowed gray eyes.

Her face glowed with the pride of his strength as she recalled the
parting scene in the bunk-house when he had hurled the heavy bench,
crashing through the door, and defied the men of the logs.

He had done this thing for _her_, she reflected--for her, and that he
might keep his promise to old Wa-ha-ta-na-ta. She wondered at his
silence. Why did he not speak? And why did he sit gazing with
tight-pressed lips into the flaring, spitting little fire?

Her breath came faster, and she laid a timid hand upon the man's arm.

"The woman?" she asked abruptly. "Who is this woman with the hair of
gold and the eyes of the summer sky?" The slender fingers gripped his
arm convulsively. "She is the woman of the picture!" she cried, and her
eyes sought his.

Bill Carmody nodded slowly and continued to stare into the fire.

"She is my--my wife," he groaned.

"Your--_wife_!"

The girl repeated the words dully, as if seeking to grasp their import.
Her fingers relaxed, her eyes closed, and she lay heavily back upon the
blanket. A long time she remained thus while Bill stared stolidly into
the fire.

At length he aroused himself and glanced toward Jeanne, who lay at his
side, breathing the long, regular breaths of the deep sleep of utter
weariness; an