ere was no sound in all the vast assemblage save the crackle of
the flames. Then they saw her muscles tauten throughout her whole
young body, saw her draw herself up to her full height, and again for a
second's space she stood still. In that moment she had deliberately put
herself back in the surging turmoil of Grand Portage, was listening to
the words of old Pierre Vernaise: "Well done, Little Maid! Again now!
Into the cleft! Into the cleft! Ah-a! Little One, well done! Alas, but
you beat your old teacher!"--was feeling again the surge of a childhood
triumph which scorned to bring nearer that wilderness of her dreams.

With a swift motion her arm shot up and forward and the tomahawk left
her hand, flying straight as an arrow for the target. It struck with a
clean impact and stood, the handle a little raised and the point well
set in the green wood. There was a rush of the medicine men, who seemed
to act as judges, and then a silence. Peering, bending near to look
closer, they gathered with confusion of voices and presently stepped
back, that all might see.

Neither in black nor red, but directly between the two, the blade
cleaved cleanly down the dividing-line.

They surged forward, gathering round like flies with buzzing and
excitement, examining it from all sides, while the girl stood upon the
line with her hands shut hard beside her.

She did not glance again at the two men beside the fire.

A sachem pulled out the hatchet and carried it back to her, while the
circle formed and widened again.

Again she stood at poise, again they saw the tension of her body, again
the little wait, while the two men held their breath and De Courtenay's
eyes were shining like stars.

"A fitting close!" he was saying to himself, in that joy which was of
his venturer's soul and knew not time or place. "Heart of my Life! What
a close to a merry span!"

Again the swift, sure motion, unmeasured of the brain, coming out of
habit and pure instinct, again the "thud" of the strike, again the rush,
and again the wondering buzz of talk.

Once more the hatchet stood upon the line between the black and the red,
directly in its own cleft!

There was wondering comment, gesticulation, and swarthy faces turned
upon the woman on the line.

Once more the sachem in his waving feathers and tinkling ornaments drew
the blade from the post and gravely carried it back to her.

Excitement was riding high in the eager faces bending forward on
all