“Ao-oo tap-wa-mukun” ("When the devil goes heaven comes in,”) say the Crees.  And with the death of Le Beau, her husband, the devil had gone out of life for Nanette.  She was more beautiful than ever.  Heaven was in the dark, pure glow of her eyes.  She was no longer like a dog under the club and the whip of a brute, and in the re-birth of her soul she was glorious.  Youth had come back to her—­freed from the yoke of oppression.  She was happy.  Happy with her baby, with freedom, with the sun and the stars shining for her again; and with new hope, the greatest star of all.  Again on the night of that first day of his return Miki crept up to her when she was brushing her glorious hair.  He loved to put his muzzle in it; he loved the sweet scent of it; he loved to put his head on her knees and feel it smothering him.  And Nanette hugged him tight, even as she hugged the baby, for it was Miki who had brought her freedom, and hope, and life.  What had passed was no longer a tragedy.  It was justice.  God had sent Miki to do for her what a father or a brother would have done.

And the second night after that, when Challoner came early in the darkness, it happened that Nanette had her hair down in that same way; and Challoner, seeing her thus, with the lampglow shining in her eyes, felt that the world had taken a sudden swift turn under his feet—­that through all his years he had been working forward to this hour.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

With the coming of Challoner to the cabin of Nanette Le Beau there was no longer a shadow of gloom in the world for Miki.  He did not reason out the wonder of it, nor did he have a foreboding for the future.  It was the present in which he lived—­the precious hours in which all the creatures he had ever loved were together.  And yet, away back in his memory of those things that had grown deep in his soul, was the picture of Neewa, the bear; Neewa, his chum, his brother, his fighting comrade of many battles, and he thought of the cold and snow-smothered cavern at the top of the ridge in which Neewa had buried himself in that long and mysterious sleep that was so much like death.  But it was in the present that he lived.  The hours lengthened themselves out into days, and still Challoner did not go, nor did Nanette leave with the Indian for Fort O’ God.  The Indian returned with a note for MacDonnell in which Challoner told the Factor that something was the matter with the baby’s lungs, and that she could not travel until the weather, which was intensely cold, grew warmer.  He asked that the Indian be sent back with certain supplies.

In spite of the terrific cold which followed the birth of the new year Challoner had put up his tent in the edge of the timber a hundred yards from the cabin, and Miki divided his time between the cabin and the tent.  For him they were glorious days.  And for Challoner—­

In a way Miki saw, though it was impossible for him to comprehend.  As the days lengthened into a week, and the week into two, there was something in the glow of Nanette’s eyes that had never been there before, and in the sweetness of her voice a new thrill, and in her prayers at night the thankfulness of a new and great joy.