iation.

His heart was full to overflowing with idolatry. From shadow and
fireglow his dark eyes looked upon her with a love that had passed far
beyond the need of word or touch, that buoyed her up and supported her
in strength and purity, like the silver cloud beneath the feet of the
Madonna.

And Maren, too, dreamed her dreams, for she had dreamed since the days
of the forge in Grand Portage, and they were sad as death. No more
did she list the sound of a western wind in the bending grass of a far
country, the rush of virgin rivers, the whisper of pine-clad hills.
The joy of the great quest was dead within her, the love of forest
and stream, the lure of trail and trace. Sadness sat upon her like a
garment. She only knew the pain that had birth that night in De Seviere
when she sought McElroy to disclaim the giver of the red flower and
found him kissing the red-rose cheek of the little Francette.

So went forth this little barque o' dreams.

Meanwhile what of the two men who journeyed ahead?

With each day they lost a little of the love of life, for with the
cunning which gave them their hazy fame the Nakonkirhirinons were
tightening the screws of cruelty.

Work beyond a man's strength was meted out to them. Alone in a long
canoe heavily laden, McElroy and De Courtenay were forced to keep the
pace set by the boats, each of which carried five men. Blisters came
in their hands, broke and rose again, sweat poured from their straining
bodies, and if they fell slow a spear-prod from the boat behind sent
them forward.

How much more exquisite could be made the torture of a victim already
worn to the ragged edge, how much sooner the scream be wrung from his
throat. With each passing league that brought them nearer the end of the
journey could be seen the fiendish eagerness rearing in the glittering
eyes.

Turn and turn they took, these two, of the hindmost seat in the canoe,
for the back of each was unspeakable from the spear-prods. Without a
word McElroy took his punishment as the lagging became more pronounced
from arms overtaxed at the paddles, but the long-haired adventurer from
the Saskatchewan taunted them to their faces.

Taunt and fling were unavailing. Of an unearthly poise were these
savages from the distant north. With grinning good humour they withheld
their anger, knowing full well that time would doubly repay.

Here and there among them appeared those worst monsters of the wilds,
INDIANS WITH BLUE E