“Tell me,” he said, “what sort of a place it is, Oachi.”

“It is beautiful,” spoke Oachi softly.

“Long, long ago the Great God came down among us and lived for a time; and He came at a time like that which has just passed, and He saw suffering, and hunger, and death.  And when He saw what life was He made for us another world, and told us that it should be called the Valley of Silent Men; and that when we died we would go to this place, and that at last—­when all of our race were gone—­He would cause the earth to roll three times, and in the Valley of Silent Men all would awaken into life which would never know death, or sorrow, or pain again.  And He says that those who love will awaken there—­hand in hand.”

“It is beautiful,” said Roscoe.  He felt himself trembling.  Oachi’s breath was against his hand.  It was his last fight.  He half reached out, as if to clasp her to him; but beyond her he still saw the other thing—­the other world.  He rose to his feet, not daring to look at her now.  He loved her too much to sacrifice her.  And it would be a sacrifice.  He tried to speak firmly.

“Oachi,” he said, “I am nearly well enough to travel now.  I have spent pleasant weeks with you, weeks which I shall never forget.  But it is time for me to go back to my people.  They are expecting me.  They are waiting for me, and wondering at my absence.  I am as you would be if you were down there in a great city.  So I must go.  I must go to-morrow, or the next day, or soon after.  Oachi—­”

He still looked where he could not see her face.  But he heard her move.  He knew that slowly she was drawing away.

“Oachi—­”

She was near the door now, and his eyes turned toward her.  She was looking back, her slender shoulders bent over, her glorious hair rippling to her knees, as she had left it undone for him.  In her eyes was love such as falls from the heavens.  But her face was as white as a mask.

“Oachi!”

With a cry Roscoe reached out his arms.  But Oachi was gone.  At last the Cree girl understood.

* * * * *

Three days later there came in the passing of a single day and night the splendour of northern spring.  The sun rose warm and golden.  From the sides of the mountains and in the valleys water poured forth in rippling, singing floods.  There bakneesh glowed on bared rocks.  Moose-birds, and jays, and wood-thrushes flitted about the camp, and the air was filled with the fragrant smells of new life bursting from earth, and tree, and shrub.  On this morning of the third day Roscoe strode forth from his tepee, with his pack upon his back.  An Indian guide waited for him outside.  He had smoked his last pipe with the chief, and now he went from tepee to tepee, in the fashion of the Crees, and drew a single puff from the pipe of each master, until there was but one tepee left, and in that was Oachi.  With a white face