part of his service kit, and remembered that in the back of it was
a small map of the world. In half a minute he had secured it and
was holding the map under her eyes. Her little forefinger touched
Copenhagen. Leaning over her shoulder, he felt her hair crumpling
against his breast. He felt an insane desire to bury his face in
it and hug her up close in his arms--for a single moment the
question of whether she came from Copenhagen or the moon was
irrelevant and of little consequence. He, at least, had found her.
He was digging her out of chaos, and he was filled with the joyous
exultation of a triumphant discoverer--almost the thrill of
ownership. He held his breath as he watched the little forefinger
telling him its story on the map.

From Copenhagen it went to Moscow--which must have been Muskvas,
and from there it trailed slowly to St. Petersburg and thence
straight across Russia and Siberia to Bering Sea.

"Skunnert," she said softly, and her finger came across to the
green patch on the map which was Alaska.

It hesitated there. Evidently it was a question in her own mind
where she had gone after that. At least she could not tell him on
the map. And now, seeing that he was understanding her, she was
becoming visibly excited. She pulled him to the window and pointed
to the wolves. Alaska--and after that dogs and sledge. He nodded.
He was jubilant. She was Celie Armin, of Copenhagen, Denmark, and
had come to Alaska by way of Russia and Siberia--and after that
had traveled by dog-train. But WHY had she come, and what had
happened to make her the companion or prisoner of Bram Johnson? He
knew she was trying to tell him. With her back to the window she