She was in his arms, trembling, and he held her tightly. He rose to his
feet . . . But the snarling of hungry dogs, and the shrill cries of
Winapie bringing about peace between the combatants, came muffled to his
ear through the heavy logs. And another scene flashed before him. A
struggle in the forest,--a bald-face grizzly, broken-legged, terrible;
the snarling of the dogs and the shrill cries of Winapie as she urged
them to the attack; himself in the midst of the crush, breathless,
panting, striving to hold off red death; broken-backed, entrail-ripped
dogs howling in impotent anguish and desecrating the snow; the virgin
white running scarlet with the blood of man and beast; the bear,
ferocious, irresistible, crunching, crunching down to the core of his
life; and Winapie, at the last, in the thick of the frightful muddle,
hair flying, eyes flashing, fury incarnate, passing the long hunting
knife again and again--Sweat started to his forehead. He shook off the
clinging woman and staggered back to the wall. And she, knowing that the
moment had come, but unable to divine what was passing within him, felt
all she had gained slipping away.

"Dave! Dave!" she cried. "I will not give you up! I will not give you
up! If you do not wish to come, we will stay. I will stay with you. The
world is less to me than are you. I will be a Northland wife to you. I
will cook your food, feed your dogs, break trail for you, lift a paddle
with you. I can do it. Believe me, I am strong."

Nor did he doubt it, looking upon her and holding her off from him; but
his face had grown stern and gray, and the warmth had died out of his
eyes.

"I will pay off Pierre and the boatmen, and let them go. And I will stay