"Who is she?" asked Emerson, in a low, eager tone. "Do you know?" "You heard, didn't you? She's Miss Malotte, and she's certainly some considerable lady." The same look that Emerson had noted when their hostess introduced herself to them flitted again into the crook's unsteady eyes. "Yes, but _who_ is she? What does this mean?" Emerson pointed to the provisions and fittings about them. "What is she doing here alone?" "Maybe you'd better ask her yourself," said Fraser. For the first time in their brief acquaintance, Emerson detected a strange note in the rogue's voice, but it was too slight to provoke reply, so he brushed it aside and prepared himself for dinner. The Indian girl summoned them, and they followed her through the long passageway into the other house, where, to their utter astonishment, they seemed to step out of the frontier and into the heart of civilization. They found a tiny dining-room, perfectly appointed, in the centre of which, wonder of wonders, was a round table gleaming like a deep mahogany pool, upon the surface of which floated gauzy hand-worked napery, glinting silver, and sparkling crystal, the dark polish of the wood reflecting the light from shaded candles. It held a delicately figured service of blue and gold, while the selection of thin-stemmed glasses all in rows indicated the character of the entertainment that awaited them. The men's eyes were too busy with the unaccustomed sight to note details carefully, but they felt soft carpet beneath their feet and observed that the walls were smooth and harmoniously papered. When one has lived long in the rough where things come with the husk on, he fancies himself weaned away from the dainty, the beautiful, and the artistic; after years of a skillet-and-sheath-knife existence he grows to feel a scorn for the finer, softer, inconsequent trifles of the past, only to find, of a sudden, that, unknown to him perhaps, his soul has been hungering for them all the while. The feel of cool linen comes like the caress of a forgotten sweetheart, the tinkle of glass and silver are so many chiming fairy bells inviting him back into the foretime days. And so these two unkempt men, toughened and browned to the texture of leather by wind and snow, brought by trail and campfire to disregard ceremony and look upon mealtime as an unsatisfying, irksome period, stood speechless, affording the girl the feminine pleasure of enjoying their discomfiture. "This is m--marvelous," murmured Emerson, suddenly conscious of his rough clothing, his fur boots, and his hands cracked by frost. "I'm afraid we're not in keeping." "Indeed you are," said the girl, "and I am delighted to have somebody to talk to. It's very lonesome here, month after month." "This is certainly a swell tepee," Fraser remarked, staring about in open admiration. "How did you do it?" "I brought my things with me from Nome." "Nome!" ejaculated Emerson, quickly. "Yes."