The time went by. The sun began to climb upward in the sky. Still the man sat on the sledge, making no preparations for the morning meal. The memory of the whip-cuts died in the dogs’ minds under the growing clamour of hunger. They began to whine again.
“Still!” The master was on his feet, but the whip had fallen from his hand.
Down at the end of the gully a small figure was coming over the snow. She was running, and her red hair flowed back over her shoulders, and she laughed aloud as she came up to him. The pain was gone from Hattie MacGregor’s lips, and her whole face beamed with a complete, unreasoning happiness, but the pride of her breed shone in her eyes even unto the end.
“Well, well!” sneered Reivers. “Aren’t you afraid to come so near anything that pollutes the air?”
She laughed again. She did not speak. She only looked at him and smiled, and by the Eve-wisdom in the smile he knew that his secret was hers. He felt himself weakening, but the Snow-Burner died hard. He tried to laugh his old, cold laugh, but the ice had been thawed in it.
“What do you want?” he sneered. “I’m not a good enough man for you. Why did you come out here?”
“Because I knew you would not go away again,” she said, “and because now I know you are a good enough man for me.”
“You red-haired trull!” He raised his hand to strike her.
She did not flinch; she merely smiled up at him confidently, contentedly. Suddenly she caught his clenched fist in her hands and kissed it. With a curse Reivers swung around on his dogs.
“Hi-yah! Mush, mush out of here!”