With an effort he turned to discover what
it was.
The match had hidden an unseen spark from Brokaw's eyes. From out of the
pile of fuel was rising a pillar of smoke and flame.
THE HONOR OF HER PEOPLE
"It ees not so much--What you call heem?--leegend, thees honor of the
Beeg Snows!" said Jan softly.
He had risen to his feet and gazed placidly over the crackling box-stove
into the eyes of the red-faced Englishman.
"Leegend is lie! Thees is truth!"
There was no lack of luster in the black eyes that roved inquiringly from
the Englishman's bantering grin to the others in the room. Mukee, the
half Cree, was sitting with his elbows on his knees gazing with stoic
countenance at this new curiosity who had wandered four hundred miles
northward from civilization. Williams, the Hudson's Bay man who claimed
to be all white, was staring hard at the red side of the stove, and the
factor's son looked silently at Jan. He and the half-breed noted the warm
glow in the eyes that rested casually upon the Englishman.
"It ees truth--thees honor of the Beeg Snows!" said Jan again, and his
moccasined feet fell in heavy, thumping tread to the door.
That was the first time he had spoken that evening, and not even the half
Cree, or Williams, or the factor's son guessed how the blood was racing
through his veins. Outside he stood with the pale, cold glow of the
Aurora Borealis shining upon him, and the limitless wilderness, heavy in
its burden of snow, reaching out into the ghost-gray fabric of the night.
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