With her heavily moccasined foot Joan scattered the ashes and charred sticks where the fire had been.

There was not a spark left.

In returning to the tent she stopped for a moment beside Kazan, and patted his shaggy head.
"Poor Wolf!" she said.

"I wish I had given you one of the bearskins!" She threw back the tent-flap and entered.

For the first time she saw her father's face in the light--and outside, Kazan heard the terrible moaning cry that broke from her lips.