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She lifted her vivid face to him, as a flower to the sun. "Did you not hear me call you Sakewawin last night?" she asked. "It is an Indian word, David, and it means ..." "Yes," he prompted, "yes — what does it mean, dear?" "It means — possession," said, proudly, Marge O'Doone
(T\ brawling stream ahead
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eyed him with bright, anxious eyes and ran back along the trail as tho offering a suggestion. But David shook his head, tho he unslung his rifle. "Who's afraid, 'Baree'?" he challenged. "We're going on." And then, lifting his eyes, David Raine knew why he had come to the Northland. For, crossing the bed of the was a girl, small, dark, with clouds
of black hair all about her face and a suggestion of swaying branches in the way she moved from stone to stone. His heart lifted wildly and his lips grew dry. The girl of the picture — was she a mirage of his desire ? But no — for with a lovely swoopi n g motion she stooped, lifted a stone and sent it splashing into a nearby pool and her laughter spattered like cool, flashing water-drops on the silence. Dream girls do not laugh like that.
He moved toward her, stumbling on blind feet, and as he did so she disappeared ! The trail curved sharply, and a clump of firs shut her away from him. When he rounded them she was gone, but at his feet lay a line of footprints of incredible smallness beside the blunt tracks of the bear.
The white world grew black before David's eyes, the trail plunged sickeningly as he ran and he muttered broken words aloud, not knowing that they were fragments of old, halfforgotten prayers. "Baree," quite evidently believing that he went to his doom, scrambled along beside, uttering mournful sounds. Together they panted about a great boulder and came full upon the girl they sought, almost in the arms of a huge grizzly.
"Dont move !" David shouted, bringing his rifle to his
shoulder. "I'll get him, but you mustn't stir "
For reply the girl gave a scream and rushed to the great brute, throwing her arms protectingly about him, and David saw, incredulously, that she held a bottle in one hand with which she had been feeding him. "Dont you dare touch this bear !" she flamed. "I'm Marge O'Doone and he's mine !"
"Yours ?" David repeated stupidly, letting the rifle slip down. "Your bear?"
(Continued on page 96)