A mile from the ranch door the trail dipped down into a coulee and wound through a thick bluff of mingling poplar and birch. With head fallen on his breast and with his sight dim with unshed tears, Paul allowed his pony to slowly take his way through the golden maze of trees. He was leaving behind him the spot in all the big world that he could most truly call home. He did not see behind a thicket of spruce a girl lying prone, peering through the branches with burning eyes till the last sight of him had vanished and there remaining long after the sound of his horse’s hoofs had died away, her white face pressed hard upon the soft brown moss. CHAPTER XXI The short November day was closing in a freezing drizzle of rain as old Indian Tom, milk pail in hand, set out for the cowstable to do his evening “chores.” As he turned into the stable yard he was startled to see a horseman waiting him there, gazing round about him, a tall, lean young man, hard of face and so dark of skin that he might have been a blood brother but for the blue-grey eyes that looked down upon Tom as he drew near. “Hah!” grunted Tom. “Who come?” “Hello, Tom! Don’t you know me?” said the young man, smiling at him. The smile revealed him to the old Indian. Dropping his pail, Tom ran to him with a cry. “Kai-yai! Little chief come back! Good! good!” With both hands upstretched he reached for the hand extended to him and almost dragged the rider from his horse. Then followed a stream of jubilant Chippewayan which continued unbroken while the horse was being unsaddled, rubbed down and made comfortable for the night. “You have everything in good order, Tom,” said Paul, returning from a survey of the stables. “But where are the horses and cattle?” “No more,” said Tom, spreading wide his hands. “Only cochon, heem at house.” “At the house?” “Huh! Heem and his small leetle cochons at house. Come! I show heem,” said Tom, leading the way to the woodshed attached to the kitchen, where Paul discovered a sow and some half dozen half grown porkers, happily and conveniently domesticated, the explanation of their proximity to the bungalow being the desire of the Indian to save himself the annoyance of exposure to the inclemency of the weather in their care during the winter months. “And where are the rest of the stock?” inquired Paul. “Colonel Pelham, he mak de beeg sale. He’s all gone—all gone!” replied Tom. “And the money? But you won’t know.” “No.” “And the Colonel—where is he?” “Me not know. Over de beeg water, think. He go some place,” replied Tom, waving his hand in the direction of the universe generally. “Oh, all right. I shall get into touch with him and he will tell me everything,” said Paul more to himself than to Tom. “And Sleeman, Tom?” inquired Paul.