good mile, and the trail was rough in the extreme. He did not
dismount when he reached the lonely log lodge, but rapping on the
door with the butt of his quirt, he awaited its opening. There was
some slight stirring about inside before this occurred; then the
door slowly opened, and she stood before him--a rather tall woman,
clad in buckskin garments, with a rug made of coyote skins about
her shoulders; she wore the beaded leggings and moccasins of her
race, and her hair, jet black, hung in ragged plaits about her dark
face, from which mournful eyes looked out at the young Montrealer.

Yes, she would go for the wages he offered, she said in halting
English; she would come to-morrow at daybreak; she would cook their
breakfast.

"Better come to-night," he urged. "The men get down the grade to
work very early; breakfast must be on time."

"I be on time," she replied. "I sleep here this night, every night.
I not sleep in camp."

Then he told her of the shack he had ordered and that was even now
being built.

She shook her head. "I sleep here every night," she reiterated.

Wingate had met many Indians in his time, so dropped the subject,
knowing full well that persuasion or argument would be utterly
useless.

"All right," he said; "you must do as you like; only remember, an