H 



"And the wolves, little brother?" whis- 

 pered Mooka, looking back timidly into the 



mi/smatCross wild waste out of which th had come> 

 jnffleSnoir „ XT . , , , J .,. , , . 



"Never mind h wolves; nothing hunts in 

 f L\f^X storm, little sister. Come on, we must find 

 urn woods now." 



For one brief moment the little hunter 

 stood with upturned face, while Mooka 

 bowed her head silently, and the great storm 

 rolled unheeded over them. Still holding 

 his long bow he stretched both hands to 

 the sky in the mute appeal that Kcesuohtkh, 

 the Great Mystery whom we call God, would 

 understand better than all words. Then 

 turning their backs to the gale they drifted 

 swiftly away before it, like two wind-blown 

 leaves, running to keep from freezing, and 

 holding each other's hands tight lest they 

 separate and be lost by the way. 



The second winter had come, sealing up 

 the gloomy land till it rang like iron at the 

 touch, then covering it deep with snow and 

 polishing its mute white face with hoar-frost 

 and hail driven onward by the fierce Arctic 



