been known to turn from the face of man, so she had heard, and so far he had never come back from a quest empty-handed.
And while she sat and meditated, the door was pushed gently open and a girl entered. She came at once over to the bunk, stooped and looked earnestly upon the unconscious man. She then dropped upon her knees by his side, took his left hand in hers and pressed it to her lips. Not a word did she utter, and seemed to pay no heed to the nurse. But Marion did not need any explanation. She understood the meaning of the girl’s action, and her heart went out to her in sympathy. She believed that the two were lovers, and that because of their love a tragedy had been enacted there in that little mining camp. The girl impressed her by her remarkable beauty and strange abandon. Her clothes were of the roughest, but so graceful was her form, that they fitted her perfectly. Her hair, black as a raven’s wing, fell in two long braids to her waist. The color of her face betrayed Indian blood in her veins, causing Marion to surmise that she was a half-breed. She had met several before, but none as graceful and charming as the one before her. She longed to know her history, and the story of her love for the white man upon the bunk.
At length the girl raised her head and looked up at the nurse.
“Will he get better?” she asked in a voice with a pronounced English accent.
“Let us hope so,” Marion replied. “But he needs a doctor at once. He is the only one who can do anything for him now.”
“When will he be here?”
“I cannot tell. But I left word for him to come as
