and set it over the fire. He had flung his suit case from his shoulder and tossed away his cap and opened his coat. Ethel unbuttoned her coat, too, and sat down upon one of the benches before the fire. Loutrelle did not sit down.
"Tired?" he asked her.
"I hadn't thought so; but it's nice to wait here."
"Yes. How far've we come?"
"About four miles. The road follows the ridges beyond here, and the snow's never so deep. A team can usually get this far."
Loutrelle turned to the fire and stood on the other side of the hearth, his hands outstretched, absently gazing into the flames. Ethel from her seat watched his face boldly, so deeply was he sunk in thought. She could understand so much better than a few hours earlier the marks which struggle and self-discipline had left upon him during the process in which he had grown from the little white boy living with the Indians to the young man he now was. She could see, too, and more plainly, the signs of good heritage in the pleasing contour and poise of his dark-haired head, the good proportion of his features, the curve of his lips, the clean turn of his chin; and—what she had not noticed before—his hands. His were strong, very masculine hands, and it was evident that they had worked a great deal, but they were small-boned and excellently shaped. They brought to Ethel's mind again the image of his ring—the ring which Noah Jo had said was his—upon a woman's hand, white, graceful and beautiful.
Ethel bent toward him impulsively. "Why do you say that it would have been an enormous waste of time for some one to have sent to collect facts about you?"
