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The captain grunted, and then after a moment added, “She’s an actor of some kind.”

McGill opened his eyes in genuine astonishment. He opened his mouth also, but changed his mind and fell to studying the flames once more. “She’s plumb beautiful,” he said at length.

“All actors is beautiful,” the captain remarked, wisely.

McGill slept badly that night, which was unusual for him, but when he went to feed his dogs on the following morning he found Miss Andrews ahead of him.

“What splendid creatures!” she said, petting them.

“Do you like dogs?” he queried.

“I love them. You know, these are the first I have ever seen of this kind.”

“Then you never rode behind a team?”

“No. I have only read about such things.”

McGill summoned his courage and said, “Mebbe you’d like me to–give you a ride?”

” Would you? Oh, Mr. McGill!” She clapped her hands, and her eyes widened at the prospect.

He noted how the brisk air had brought the blood to her cheeks, but broke off the dangerous contemplation of her charms and fell to harnessing the team, his fingers stiff with embarrassment. He helped her into the basket-sled and then, at her request, tucked in the folds of her coat. It was a novel sensation and one he had never dreamed of having, for he would not have dared touch any woman without a command.

It was not much of a ride, for the trails were poor, but the girl seemed to enjoy it, and to McGill it was wonderful. He felt that he was making an awful spectacle of himself, however, and hoped no one had seen them leave; he was so big and so ungainly to be playing squire, and, above all, he was so old.

He could think of nothing to say on the excursion, but when she thanked him upon their return he was more than paid for his misery. As they drove up, Barclay was watching them from the high bank, and Miss Andrews waved a mitten at him. Later, when McGill had left for a moment, the young man began, sourly:

“Making a play for the old party, eh?”

“He isn’t old,” said Miss Andrews, carelessly.

“What’s the idea?”

“I don’t know that I have any idea. Why?”

“Humph! I’m interested–naturally.”

“You needn’t be. It’s every one for himself up here, and you don’t seem to be getting ahead very fast.”

“I see. McGill’s due to be a millionaire, and I’m down and out,” Barclay sneered. “Well, we’re neither of us children. If you can land him, more power to you.”

“I wouldn’t stand in your way,” said Miss Andrews, coldly, “and I don’t intend that you shall stand in mine.”

“Is that the only way you look at it?” Barclay wore an ugly frown that seemed genuine. She met it with a mere shrug, causing him to exclaim, hotly, “If you don’t care any more than that, I won’t interfere.” He turned and walked away.

Those were wonderful days for McGill. Instead of hurrying back to his work he loitered. With a splendid disregard of convention he followed the girl about hourly and was too drunk with her smiles to hear the comment his actions evoked. He had moments of despair when he saw himself as a great, awkward bear, more aptly designed to frighten than to woo a woman, but these periods of depression gave way to the keenest delight at some word of encouragement from Alice Andrews. He did not fully realize that he had asked her to marry him until it was all over, but she seemed to understand so fully what was in his heart that she had drawn it from him before he really knew what he was saying. And then the joy of her acceptance! It stunned him. When he had finally torn himself away from her side he went out and stood bareheaded under the northern lights to let it sink in. There were no words in his vocabulary, no thoughts in his mind, capable of expressing the marvel of it. The gorgeous colors that leaped from horizon to zenith were no more glorious than the riot that flamed within his soul. She loved him, Dan McGill, and she was a white woman! When he thought how beautiful and young she was his heart overflowed with a gentle tenderness which rivaled that of any mother.