into the fire.

"I have pondered deeply. Through the long hours, while the scow rushed
into the North, there came to me a vision of my people. In the rocks,
in the bush, and the ragged hills I saw it; and in the swirl of the
mighty river. And the vision was good!"

The voice of the man's Indian grandmother spoke from his lips, and the
soul of her glowed in his deep-set eyes.

"Even now _Sakhalee Tyee_ speaks from the stars of the night sky. My
people shall learn the wisdom of the white man. The power of the
oppressor shall be broken, and the children of the far places shall
come into their own."

The man's voice had dropped into the rhythmic intonation of the Indian
orator, and his eyes were fixed upon the names that curled, lean and
red, among the dry sticks of the camp-fire. Chloe gazed in fascination
into the rapt face of this man of many moods. The soul of the girl
caught the enthusiasm of his words, and she, too, saw the vision--saw
it as she had seen it upon the wave-lapped rock of the river-bank.

"You will help me?" she cried; "will join forces with me in a war
against the ruthless exploitation of a people who should be as free and
unfettered as the air they breathe?"

Lapierre bent his gaze upon her face slowly, like one emerging from a
trance.

"Yes," he answered deliberately; "it is of that I wish to speak. Let