Watching the final
glow with him was Dolores. It was their second day.
Into this world, in the twilight that was falling swiftly as they watched
the setting of the sun, came Wapi, the Walrus. Blinded in the eye, gaunt
with hunger and exhaustion, covered with wounds, and with his great heart
almost ready to die, he came at last to the river across which lay the
barracks. His vision was nearly gone, but under his nose he could still
smell faintly the trail he was following until the last. It led him
across the river. And in darkness it brought him to a door.
After a little the door opened, and with its opening came at last the
fulfilment of the promise of his dreams--hope, happiness, things to live
for in a new, a white-man's world. For Wapi, the Walrus, forty years
removed from Tao of Vancouver, had at last come home.
THE YELLOW-BACK
Above God's Lake, where the Bent Arrow runs red as pale blood under its
crust of ice, Reese Beaudin heard of the dog auction that was to take
place at Post Lac Bain three days later. It was in the cabin of Joe
Delesse, a trapper, who lived at Lac Bain during the summer, and trapped
the fox and the lynx sixty miles farther north in this month of February.
"Diantre, but I tell you it is to be the greatest sale of dogs that has
ever happened at Lac Bain!" said Delesse. "To this Wakao they are coming
from all the four directions.
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