She stood up, and swayed in the gray light, like one worn out by hard travel.  Then she passed into the tepee, and Jolly Roger heard her fall on her blanket-bed.

And still stranger whisperings filled his heart as he faced the east, where the first red blush of day drove back the star-mists of dawn.  He heard a step in the soft sand, and Slim Buck stood beside him.  And he asked.

“Did you ever hear of the Country Beyond?” Slim Buck shook his head, and both looked in silence toward the rising sun.

Peter was glad when the camp roused itself out of sleep with waking voices, and laughter, and the building of fires.  He waited eagerly for Sun Cloud.  At last she came out of Yellow Bird’s tepee, rubbing her eyes in the face of the glow in the east, and then her white teeth flashed a smile of welcome at him.  Together they ran down to the edge of the lake, and Peter wagged his tail while Sun Cloud went out knee-deep and scrubbed her pretty face with handfuls of the cool water.  It was a happy day for him.  He was different from the Indian dogs, and Sun Cloud and her playmates made much of him.  But never, even in their most exciting play, did he entirely lose track of his master.

Jolly Roger, to an extent, forgot Peter.  He tried to deaden within him the impulses which Yellow Bird’s conjuring had roused.  He tried to see in them a menace and a danger, and he repeated to himself the folly of placing credence in Yellow Bird’s “medicine.”  But his efforts were futile, and he was honest enough to admit it.  The uneasiness was in his breast.  A new hope was rising up.  And with that hope were fear and suspense, for deep in him was growing stronger the conviction that what Yellow Bird would tell him would be true.  He noted the calm and dignified stiffness with which Slim Buck greeted the day.  The young chief passed quietly among his people.  A word traveled in whispers, voices and footsteps were muffled and before the sun was an hour high there was no tepee standing but one on that white strip of beach.  And the one tepee was Yellow Bird’s,

Not until the camp was gone, leaving her alone, did Yellow Bird come out into the day.  She saw the food placed at her tepee door.  She saw the empty places where the homes of her people had stood, and in the wet sand of the beach the marks of their missing canoes.  Then she turned her pale face and tired eyes to the sun, and unbraided her hair so that it streamed glistening all about her and covered the white sand when she sat down again in front of the smoke-darkened canvas that had become her conjurer’s house.

Two miles up the beach Slim Buck’s people made another camp.  But Slim Buck and Jolly Roger remained in the cover of a wooded headland only half a mile from Yellow Bird.  They saw her when she came out.  They watched for an hour after she sat down in the sand.  And then Slim Buck grunted, and with a gesture of his hands said they would go.  Jolly Roger protested.  It was not safe for Yellow Bird to remain entirely beyond their protection.  There were bears prowling about.  And human beasts occasionally found their way through the wilderness.  But Slim Buck’s face was like a bronze carving in its faith and pride.