The woman stirred before the fire.  The girl drew back, her breath coming almost sobbingly.  And then the thought of what he had done rushed in a flood of horror upon Roscoe.  These wild people had saved his life; they had given him to eat of their last fish; they were nursing him back from the very threshold of death—­and he had already repaid them by offering to the Cree maiden next to the greatest insult that could come to her people.  He remembered what Rameses had told him—­that the Cree girl’s first kiss was her betrothal kiss; that it was the white garment of her purity, the pledge of her fealty forever.  He lifted himself upon his elbow, but the girl had run to the door.  Voices came from outside, and the two men reentered the tepee.  He understood enough of what was said to learn that the camp had been holding council, and that two men were about to make an effort to reach the nearest post.  Each tepee was to furnish these two men a bit of food to keep them alive on their terrible hazard, and the woman brought forth the half of a fish.  She cut it into quarters, and with one of the pieces the elder man went out again into the night.  The younger man spoke to the girl.  He called her Oachi, and to Roscoe’s astonishment spoke in French.

“If they do not come back, or if we do not find meat in seven days,” he said, “we will die.”

Roscoe made an effort to rise, and the effort sent a rush of fire into his head.  He turned dizzy, and fell back with a groan.  In an instant the girl was at his side—­ahead of the man.  Her hands were at his face, her eyes glowing again.  He felt that he was falling into a deep sleep.  But the eyes did not leave him.  They were wonderful eyes, glorious eyes!  He dreamed of them in the strange sleep that came to him, and they grew more and more beautiful, shining with a light which thrilled him even in his unconsciousness.  After a time there came a black, more natural sort of night to him.  He awoke from it refreshed.  It was day.  The tepee was filled with light, and for the first time he looked about him.  He was alone.  A fire burned low among the stones; over it simmered a pot.  The earth floor of the tepee was covered with deer and caribou skins, and opposite him there was another bunk.  He drew himself painfully to a sitting posture and found that it was his shoulder and hip that hurt him.  He rose to his feet, and stood balancing himself feebly when the door to the tepee was drawn back and Oachi entered.  At sight of him, standing up from his bed, she made a quick movement to draw back, but Roscoe reached out his hands with a low cry of pleasure.

“Oachi,” he cried softly.  “Come in!” He spoke in French, and Oachi’s face lighted up like sunlight.  “I am better,” he said.  “I am well.  I want to thank you—­and the others.”  He made a step toward her, and the strength of his left leg gave way.  He would have fallen if she had not darted to him so quickly that she made a prop for him, and her eyes looked up into his whitened face, big and frightened and filled with pain.