I looked into the shrivelled, but 

 otherwise normal, face of the Indian 

 woman. What had been her life, her 

 heart history, now as completely gone 

 as though it had never been thirty 

 years of life struggle in snow and sun, 

 with, perhaps, a little joy, and then 

 what? 



Seven brass rings were on her thumb 

 and a carved wooden armlet encircled 

 the wrist. These I was vandal enough 

 to accept from Burfield. There were 

 more rings and armlets, but enough is 

 enough. As the gew-gaws had a pecu- 

 liar, gaseous, left-over smell, I wrapped 

 them in my gloves, and surely if trifles 

 determine destiny, that act was one of 

 the trifles that determined the fact that 

 I was to be spared to this life for yet a 

 while longer. For, as I was carelessly 

 wrapping up my spoil, with a nose very 



