wned down the slope. She had drawn her hands tight
around her knees, so tight that each knuckle stood out white from the
surrounding tan.

The young man shut his open lips and drew in a breath that quivered.

"Ma'amselle," he said huskily, "nowhere in the wide world is there
another woman so deep of heart, so strong in tenderness. Never before
have I seen that side of the trapping. To a man that is shut. It needs
the soul of a woman to see behind those things. And, oh, Ma'amselle!"
his voice fell low and trembling, "I have seen more,--the divinity
within your spirit. May the good God make me worthy that you may speak
so to me again. I would I might serve you,--with my life I would serve
you, Ma'amselle, for I have seen no woman like you." He was on his feet,
this young Marc Dupre, and the hot blood was coursing fast in his veins.
The awakening was coming, though not for Maren Le Moyne.

"May the time come when I may be a stone for your foot," he said
swiftly. "I ask no better fate."

Maren looked up at him and a wonderful tenderness spread on her face.

"I think the time will come, M'sieu,--and, when it does, it will be
worth while. I think it would be a lifting sight to see you in some
great crisis, before some heavy test."

"You do?" he said slowly; "you do, Ma'amselle? Then, by Heaven, it
would!"

"And some day I shall see it."

They little knew, these two in their glowing youth, how true was that
word, nor how tragic that sight would be.

"And till then," said this wild youth of the forest, "until then may we
be friends?" The head under the crimson cap was whirling.

"Friends?" smiled Maken, and her voice was very gentle; "assuredly,
M'sieu--I had destined you for that some time ago."

As she turned away, her glance once more fell upon the long camp of the
Assiniboines, and Marc Dupre faded from her mind.

Not so with him, left sitting on the flat stone, the blood hot in his
face and a sudden mist before his eyes.

Her last words sang in his ears like the voice of many waters.

He did not look after her,--there was something within that held him
silent, staring at the waters of the river, now sparkling like a
stream of diamonds in the risen sun, the lightness gone from him and a
trembling loosed in his bosom.

Within the big trading-room at the factory, seats had been placed, the
chief and his headmen sat in a solemn circle, and McElroy, holding
in his two hands the long calumet, stood in the centr