“What does this old woman want?” asked the engineer of Jaquis one evening when, returning to his tent, he found the fat Cree and her daughter camping on his trail.

“She want that pot,” said Jaquis.

“Then for the love of We-sec-e-gea, god of the Crees,” said Smith, “give it into her hands and bid her begone.”

Jaquis did as directed, and the old Indian went away, but she left the girl.

The next day Smith started on a reconnoissance that would occupy three or four days.  As he never knew himself when he would return, he never took the trouble to inform Jaquis, the tail of the family.

After breakfast the Belle went over to her mother’s.  She would have lunched with her mother from the much coveted kettle, but the Belle’s mother told her that she should return to the camp of the white man, who was now her lord and master.  So the Belle went back and lunched with Jaquis, who otherwise must have lunched alone.  Jaquis tried to keep her, and wooed her in his half-wild way; but to her sensitive soul he was repulsive.  Moreover, she felt that in some mysterious manner her mother had transferred her, together with her love and allegiance, to Smith the Silent, and to him she must be true.  Therefore she returned to the Cree camp.

As the sinking sun neared the crest of the Rockies, the young Indian walked back to the engineer’s camp.  As she strode along the new trail she plucked wildflowers by the wayside and gathered leaves and wove them into vari-colored wreaths, swinging along with the easy grace of a wild deer.

Now some women would say she had not much to make her happy, but she was happy nevertheless.  She loved a man—­to her the noblest, most god-like creature of his kind,—­and she was happy in abandoning herself to him.  She had lived in this love so long, had felt and seen it grow from nothing to something formidable, then to something fine, until now it filled her and thrilled her; it overspread everything, outran her thoughts, brought the far-off mountains nearer, shortened the trail between her camp and his, gave a new glow to the sunset, a new glory to the dawn and a fresher fragrance to the wildflowers; the leaves whispered to her, the birds came, nearer and sang sweeter; in short it was her life—­the sunshine of her soul.  And that’s the way a wild woman loves.

And she was to see him soon.  Perhaps he would speak to her, or smile on her.  If only he gave a passing glance she would be glad and content to know that he was near.  Alas, he came not at all.  She watched with the stars through the short night, slept at dawn, and woke to find Jaquis preparing the morning meal.  She thought to question Jaquis, but her interest in the engineer, and the growing conviction that his own star sank as his master’s rose, rendered him unsafe as a companion to a young bride whose husband was in the hills and unconscious of the fact that he was wedded to anything save the wilderness and his work.