“How did you find him?” demanded the Factor, abruptly.

“We went with old Haukemah’s band down as far as the Mattawishguia.  There we left them and went up stream and over the divide.  Dick here broke his leg and was laid up for near three months.  I looked all that district over while he was getting well.  Then we made winter travel down through the Kabinikagam country and looked her over.  We got track of this Jingoss over near the hills, but he got wind of us and skipped when we was almost on top of him.  We took his trail.  He went straight north, trying to shake us off, and we got up into the barren country.  We’d have lost him in the snow if it hadn’t been for that dog there.  He could trail him through new snow.  We run out of grub up there, and finally I gave out.  Dick here pushed on alone and found the Injun wandering around snow-blind.  He run onto some caribou about that time, too, and killed some.  Then he came back and got me:—­I had a little pemmican and boiled my moccasins.  We had lots of meat, so we rested up a couple of weeks, and then came back.”

That was all.  These men had done a great thing, and thus simply they told it.  And they only told that much of it because it was their duty; they must report to their chief.

Galen Albret seemed for a moment to consider, as was his habit.

“You have done well,” he pronounced at last.  “My confidence in you was justified.  The pay stands as agreed.  In addition I place you in charge of the post at Lost River, and you, Herron, in charge of the Mattagami Brigade.”

The men flushed, deeply pleased, more than rewarded, not by the money nor the advancement, but by the unqualified satisfaction of their commander.

They turned away.  At this moment Virginia Albret, on some errand to her father, appeared outlined in slender youth against the doorway.  On the instant she recognized them.

“Why, Sam and Dick,” she said, “I am glad to see you.  When did you get back?”

“Just back, Miss Virginia,” replied Sam.

“That’s good.  I hope you’ve had a successful trip.”

“Yes,” answered Sam.  The woodsman stood there a little awkwardly, wishing to be polite, not sure as to whether they should now go without further dismissal.

“See, Miss Virginia,” hesitated Sam, to fill in the pause, “I have your handkerchief yet.”

“I’m glad you kept it, Sam,” replied the young girl; “and have you yours, Dick?”

And suddenly to Dick the contrast between this reality and that other came home with the vividness of a picture.  He saw again the snow-swept plain, the wavering shapes of illusion, the mock suns dancing in unholy revel.  The colour of the North burned before his eyes; a madness of the North unsealed his lips.

“I used it to cover a dead girl’s face,” he replied, bluntly.